Monday, August 22, 2016

Bodies as cream eyes.
Vultures on fire with the cream.
Totally mesmerized upper windows,
leaning readers regaling powerline
faces, history's bitches who eat paint.
Mesmerist of secret terror,
ogling the rift between worlds.
Forehead pierced by the emergence
of warrior thoughts, unused
while the hands made gods,
old theater come out of the earth
with new lights.

Throat that vibrates the continents
like stepchildren, piano teeth
that descend from the shackles of
a bloodied tree with freshly
imprinted leaves.

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