the tracks and cars that cut
transparent gloves
roads that slither under
the network of time
I see a light escaping
for some other world.
Turning corners with its sheets of rain
the snare of lips at magnetic poles
plow blade with a beard of lunar light
tucking in the sod
around a fuming corpse
brain dripping with a fresh order
dew anointed deep
in the high sky scraping offices
my loveshorn tigress of concrete winter
my glue wrapped microwave dove.
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