Saturday, December 28, 2013


Maybe it's the blood in the body that thinks these thoughts
or the language laid over it
that becomes deeper than its beginnings
gongs and creaking of doors into machine code
the frenzy of world-changing beasts
reared on wastes from a brewery
the edges of newly shod feet walking streets
made for riding in cars
the whole plan of the flesh finally collapsed in a heap of sticks

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