where the turkey blood flows
into a purple vein
of the cracked tar's mirror to the sun
that blinks its gravel eyes
the vines glow on a swirling fence
a path dawns from the ripped soil
clay hands grasp a swinging hook
and follow the crumpled sky
through a drinking seam.
Blossoms bulge rancid
on broken glass
that guards a sunken fortress
cubes of a rotted chain
glisten stillness in the trap of lunar love.
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