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small town blood
news died away
some random name scratched into a crapper door
small town blood has two sides
earthed in the heart from birth
loved
he left for good
lilies still fresh in our broken yards
eels at sunset
for the fleece she bequeathed my silver mind
I tossed eels at sunset to mark my loneliness
this un-world and that cracked bliss of imagination
kept me
unkept
in meagre sight of myself
the carrion of laughter fixed in her listless jaw
ever loved
there
beneath the leaves of your existence
smiled the only turd you ever loved
your name written backwards on god’s left palm
in celebration
she returns unspoken;
fragments of mantras
cradled in a deathmind.
sunlight swells in morning
rooms; a glad and abstract
ghost.
we are alone, as always,
unobserved by angels of
any creed.
she breathes a hatchet-flock
of elated doom from the
root of every motherless
hour.
lesser prayers scratch open
the wail of buttoned-down
skin.
together, far removed,
I have known always:
her.
drink the stars
the hundred hearts of my face, looking up.
spines of gone midnight prop me, useless,
in the mouth of it; my warm bloodedness
futile and precious.
I have no questions and only a child’s
tongue to articulate;
sublimity spins me to the pavement.
news died away
some random name scratched into a crapper door
small town blood has two sides
earthed in the heart from birth
loved
he left for good
lilies still fresh in our broken yards
eels at sunset
for the fleece she bequeathed my silver mind
I tossed eels at sunset to mark my loneliness
this un-world and that cracked bliss of imagination
kept me
unkept
in meagre sight of myself
the carrion of laughter fixed in her listless jaw
ever loved
there
beneath the leaves of your existence
smiled the only turd you ever loved
your name written backwards on god’s left palm
in celebration
she returns unspoken;
fragments of mantras
cradled in a deathmind.
sunlight swells in morning
rooms; a glad and abstract
ghost.
we are alone, as always,
unobserved by angels of
any creed.
she breathes a hatchet-flock
of elated doom from the
root of every motherless
hour.
lesser prayers scratch open
the wail of buttoned-down
skin.
together, far removed,
I have known always:
her.
drink the stars
the hundred hearts of my face, looking up.
spines of gone midnight prop me, useless,
in the mouth of it; my warm bloodedness
futile and precious.
I have no questions and only a child’s
tongue to articulate;
sublimity spins me to the pavement.