Monday, April 10, 2006


Warning under extensions
These fillet trestles bulge morning eyes

Wide like bomb marks, wide like bombs
Going to go off, going to go

Self deception for a crown of tweezers
And heart of photo-paper printed hearts

No small inclusion, Wurst, the smell
Of inebriated guilt, the farm-water’s shame

In shells so delicate. So much little squadrons
Crating disease for immediate shipment

To the under-crescent waxing to tubes
And descent break-waters. Shed the delight

For pomposity, for crowds of open faces
Closing up in a slippery cellophane.

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