of autopilot spaceships
carve burnt symmetrical lines
for acid bath swimming pools
into the sleeping earth.
Grapes fall from a pyramid cloud
and are gobbled by a birth stricken orgy
nails are bitten back
on reptilian hands.
The mud wasp nests on my eyes
make a light wind whistle
for the frame that doesn't care
where the tongue goes to fly.
Streets wind like bright intestines
past the cemetery markets
in the heat of tainted stars
drunk serfdoms scratching pallid scars
on greasy glass
the vomit of a flashing screen
hot medicine for the dead
a dog skin bikini
stretched around her orbs of sand.
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