a path of coins
holy is the stained earth
and all the flowing streams thereof
the weight of many apples
on a hill of bone and branches
zones of pink neon blankness
between pools and lawns
I am a pinball laughing in spirit
watching the luck of others
move me around
sleeping in the sound of pouring gravel
born on a porno wave
of glossy inhabitants
over the hotel rooms in fury
angels estranged in flight
naked days of the inverted slave.
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