Monday, August 15, 2016

The stock of laughter poisoned by lovely lips
pond of discarded tires staring under the moon
long lines strung overhead of moving ships
cargo of colored air
symetries of madness mated by plastic
overload of planet suns
pushing perfect numbers to peacock plenitude
knives fallen under a bed
dish of leaves that presupposes a book
the hand that comes out of the bunghole to steal the eye
and pleasure the silence of god
with island flowers
wreckage of rubies
running water to the hungry arc

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