Wednesday, December 18, 2019

Flapping snake skin of the moon
through the gene's mosaic
a crown of rubber thorns
swift fiber optic feelers
divine slap of gas and oil
swab's long handle
over a spreading floor
rinks beaming the dance of blades
chairs tapping the key holes
of a turning blueprint

what emptiness have I invited
into these hours
whose print of hair
follows the traces of my hand

how the wheel flickers
on the points of the great magnet
or the wings turn to claws
of a great hand

sweet singing tongues along the vertebrae
a melodious dog bowl
ready for the spoon's next flick.

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