Tuesday, March 13, 2018

Rails on the branch read by hands
knob slipping from trunk
with green fang's
bud of forked tongue
the sky's brown tarp
pulled over bright blue knives
dripping polished claws
silt lit by mica fingers
belts of depressurized leather
hinges of mud
out to the tip of outlook
where the roads of language
round out their circuits
the center of a spoken leaf
sweating razors and glue cylinders
wrapped-up maggots in layered tape
little crests of bark
stuck like a stopped wave
sets of parked food
weeping carbonated streams.

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