Monday, February 9, 2009

sustenance geared and smearing
shit covered diapers drawing
lines down the walls for a
tad-pole sunken below
the sea-belted pieces,
he rang out a song that
distorted our being, sight
minds and running along
paths that are as worn
as they are nude, there’s
a fancy to replay it over
again and in reverse but
forwards in slow motioned
repetitions that bestow
daring winds across avid
fields of the most precious
floral arrangements, those
impossible configurations
shorn to a bartenders coffin
fingered toe nails, shaken the
latest stirred boredom, my
bedlam of rosary, roses for
myself on the days where
I matter most, sent from
an alias while wasted, so that
upon arrival I’ve forgotten
who it was I became, and
like a magician who loves
his shaman like he does his
exorcist, counting my days
in your head so that in keeping
with intervals, we can
empty ourselves with envy.

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