Thursday, August 25, 2016

Darling razor cupulas
carving table tops with weary hands
while the room erodes like a sock in the soil
voices are pulped and noise blooms
broken urinals talk beauty
flings chandelier the sacred spirit's core
sleds slick the hill to death
under the sexless straight flank
of an eighteen-wheeler
jets push the box of stolen gardens
into a blacked-out rose
and through the threaded sky
with anus-baked goods
driveling down the valley sides with
silky scum to eat the fortunes
of the forsaken river
locked doors losing frame
around a fire's placemat
windows painted half to be a looking glass
wasp sex on the sill
that time held for the sun to punch
falling into residence with dulled open eyes
looking the trees through screens
past ponds that spout
with the language of chameleon leagues.

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