Friday, April 29, 2016

Dumb Cane

Prepare your fire.
Wear a song.

Till we travel to look at
bell tongued birds
in havoc green.

Atop shaped leaves, and two wet
cats, scarcely open
taunt the sky

black trundling queens. tearing a beautiful moon. through the great bell glass. cracked across. these others. in mourning for his holy cock. while white tulips. bow down his bones. holding before their own white flesh.

I nearly go extinct.
banana gas set against flint.
fiery tempered steel.
especially commercial stitches tauten.
reeling from the steam
of chaining possessives


ngrams generated from biases created out of the works of Stan Rice, Sylvia Plath, HD, and my own work.

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