4 Jan


You move away.

Hover on the horizon.

Drift how wood.

Bacteria to bacteria,

a glove full of fly eggs,

back to backbone,

let me glide to your velvet

aired-out in everglades

deep freezing meat

in the eye of a crocodile

the crowbar of a profile.

Queen of silent sorrow,

please be sullen to the end of rug burns, sizzling spring legs

sprung frames, the club jesters

rowing off to natural parks,

in the armor of a Minotaur,

on the armoire of a horny princess’s

hoar-frost, the killer of toad skin,

or dry off, your golden body

cooking on a wooden raft

true tales were never left unfastened

heartbeat me through the strips

mummy’s are made to magic

just as flesh-eating cannibals

will light a shot

burning through the ether reality

tantalizing skeletons

from their humorous

backstabbing cages

the porthole porpoise knows

you never really lit a flame

to get better

half the dungeon’s all enraged

without us.

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