Tuesday, December 22, 2015

TRASH CHAPTER

Phlegm-daughter phlegm brother,
riot for cones of hilltop light
with horns in the belly
marked for colors in the high mind
flung by leather to canvas
of cast-off clothes,
peaking on broken ceilings
where the fingers of water
reach like vacant blood.

Tongue hugger of pink lips
for what leaves life steaming,
pool of ashes and bent leaves
where a battered plate
hangs suspended.

From the wire that becomes its plan
existence is twanging shapely, erect
and forgetting motherfuckers.

Hang plate with a navel on its old lid
glazed drifting eye with its pyramid
of stacked daggers.

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