I float on silk leaves
under the smoke of an attacked harbor
this circuitry deserves its rope of wounds
convulsions wrought in space
the colors of departed air
a park bench on a meteor
the shade beneath
the strength of a straw hat
and then not even that.
The fabric bulges up above
a steaming cemetery
loaded with the letters of dead tribes
and sucking stars
pulling at the oils of the lard
pooling in a tidy dish
for some emperor to drink away
the sleep of death in money's empty rays.
Oblivion my last elusive beauty
with the curvature of many bonus earths
feeding mouths are printed on the castle
draining all the offshoots of the curse.
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