Tuesday, September 12, 2017

Pastures glazed with the honey of blood.
Screens stuck to bush branches
wobbling in a light bath.
Roads from the eagle's head
cascading in helmets and ferns
invisibly with black tar.

Dumpsters hosed by propeller hands
sunshine rust made fit for living.
Lampshade eyes hovering to scan
the nude favorites.
Trees crumpled like paper
salt packets on a wide grey
cafeteria table.

Severed legs bumping
like special effect snakes
on the aisle's water.
And the blinking numbers and quotes
that no longer mean anything but the unanswerable
question of all that once did.

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