evaporates at a touch, foggy tar
flows down swelling hills
of a restless earth.
Blankets are alive on grass
the voice of smitten soil
twitches its hairy masks
and tables polished with vinegar,
the severed eyes in a river
still afloat reflecting sadness
from the ones cut awake
to bleed slowly in carpeted halls,
stems dripping on departing floors
in the house of artificial lords.
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