is a desperate business.
Let's masturbate the blood,
its every cell.
Paint the inner spiral
of the seashell
with an astral tongue.
Let the kitten colors run.
The sun rests in its fire
on the seventh wall.
Snakes coiling make a ragged
mess of their shed skin.
The soil reaches peaks
of cool vibration
in the rows of rain.
The love of life
is a tooth of pain
buried in the groaning grain.
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