Monday, December 17, 2018

The parade in the door frame
snarling mouths and vacuum hoses
stuck doors on cloth
waiting for the oil,
cherries unmoored from life
glimmering to the hilt
a shore drawn and shaded
with lines of visitation
that flicker from
a swamp of ink.

Let the fingered head
lie in its heap of blossoms
discovering five legged tigers,
a plow horse leaning on
the glacier's wall of salt
left for remembrance.

Let the shelter of doves
touch its veins for sweet submersion
in this ceremony to take
out the trash.

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