Sunday, April 15, 2018

Framed numeral stations
and radiant railroad track images
teeming with petroleum daffodils,
pitching potato juice dance moves
to an empty black sky.

The sex-broken back
of rich blood let loose
on the underground,
the fury of taste
beckoned by disintegration,

a mask in curd of day
the diamond skin
of battery's acid blood,
the glad conniver of wheat germ,
eating salad in honey,
an egg charmer.

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