with limbs of putty running
to be molded on these bloody rods
dirty train cars and their trails of dust
drum skin walls and desks of anti-gravity
silk blades and velvet chain transparent chairs
the fine hairs of a last uncharted pasture
lost between the lenses that have probed
eclipsing bolted doors
with waves of mirror cream
these starry nights are catalogued in crayon
and the tongues of stacked cloth
my bewildered eyes on lobster stalks.
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