Monday, March 5, 2007

A Tower Of Guts


Under the gas mask

Taking the shape of red leaves

A parade of women

Bomb the sculptor with star shells

We love you like chimneys


Two lamps burn bare breasts

Suddenly her hand becomes

A tower of guts

Two lamps burn in your cheekbones

Cunt creature not of this world


I am not in this:

Two distant fingers tilling

The fresh moustache field

A long punch from your tail

Shakes the anaconda’s pants


I hide alphabets

Between the sun and her teeth

Firemen are priests

Sunken below lordly heads

Hyacinth curls melt milk mills


The cold sick stillness

Love and mad pain’s kindled crash

I am like a wave

Bursting in the gorgeous sky

Megaphones rage tiny stars


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