Tuesday, November 29, 2016

It was my 200th poem of the year
bells were ringing in the deep sky
hurdles of meat froze hard
near the aching water
duck feathers stuck like light
to the eyes of my eyes.

Towers roads to universe axis
sand pebbles and piles of rubble
lips fork to fork tongues
long path to the tent scum lit
where my water tank hides
the bone brush of teeth
and the gift of a fallen man.

Slates on a load of brick
glinting back at a golden moon.
Woofers aspeak through pipes
concrete where leather lounges
cones of melody ice
that tickle the foreplane's tongue.

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