Thursday, April 12, 2018

Mug's decorated farms of divided skin,
all eaten up by light and microbes,
staring pock marked glass
in a tunneled future.

Fissures steaming clay colors
find rooms inhabited
by walking file cabinets,
digitized top hats
and ancient carving knives.

Tapes of wind and shore side solitude
flicker around the congregated cut throats,
a pudding of electrodes,
lipstick and mascara crab cakes.

Topless veal frying architectural hands
to retrieve blood,
dry and gagging
in dyed smoke.

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