Sunday, May 17, 2020

The body has a whirlwind grey wall
a switch touched by the dying dancer
bricks perfuming a tunnel of lights
springs raging that had no core
a tongue of gas
split rails heading for the tin foil night
a blue void turning stars to dark
wood's color of planting soil
a spark of lungs
going up the bucket's sides
to mezzanine skunk
with a fortress smile.

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