Monday, September 12, 2016

Worlds on tap in smoke
from the fire of a painted journey
pouring eyes behind a gate of oil
rooms in a towering hat that rents space
the killing lid that milks frozen boys
sawblade mouth that frees a flexed abyss
learning blood building cemetery brains
on a capital vapor and a pepper's breast
time's yield of park benches burning
vinyl ponds tobacco gloves
moving dippers through wide water incensed
the barking frogs of innocence
in a four-stringed demonic throat

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