plastic hammers flattened by a salty anvil
you and me toasting tea
up late in a loft that sags
painting a lactic newspaper.
Deep in a horoscope's kinetic wires
the hearth blazes with snail shells
winding in their circuitry of ocean's fire
black-eyed susan's fist of vines
that gird their stems and garden.
Venomous shields of death
protecting deeper bodies
silk from the mortal slide
an ice-flecked soul's ascent
machine gun and piano bench
a wreath that grows and clenches.
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