Wednesday, April 25, 2012


if you're able to wake
make your way to the front

rodent teeth bore into palms
keep the sharp door shut

worry the stuck brass clasp
sink among gray soft

succumb to the
visions of brown arms

struck with a loose-claw
a swift buttery hack

what a ball the head becomes
lacy purple gargling

in a hallway they're leading a black horse

my big roundness cries
for the want

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