“Wet Apples”

16 Feb

“Wet Apples”

Two black eyes

a heart full of teeth

rivers gush to tell our troubles

rivers rush fish for us

and though we grovel

at the thighs of dawn

and fall down butterfly slides

the hanging lamp in the jungle stills

through green mists the wings of insects

blows your horn through the fog

projects candy films, rings the inn

for us weary warriors to be lifted

by living cat pillows’

incisions stitched with black thread,

ten claws reserved for punishments

amputated with care by silken drawers.

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