Glint. Gum. Crown of debris inhabiting the turrets
Of locomotion. Finally I can spot the wheels of the train
In a rumble of light, deep wobbling pressure
Like my bowels, sweet and prolonged
But drawing near like storms at sea, veined
Of marbled as the jewels of heaven.
Dizzy exhaust is my cup of wine, over
Dispatches of the street, the bus and delivery
Connect inside my heart, its sponge
Of canary light now garbled in the announcers
Teutonic revenge, now rippled off the Metro
Pausing on its quest to let me join in her flight.
My end of the world is a wandering heart.
What luck: the Sports page.
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