Saturday, February 8, 2014

eat your stake

we could be sitting in parks  wrestling
leave  pitch forks inside                   a pearling  closet
housed in its own wednesday

       left to the middle  Valencia
                     forgotten         left   amongst the liver and onions
if its the smell     we could lift the window

we could band     right handed words     left soaring   bouncing
empty hallway drum beat         bouncing celiphaholic pesticide

       casting eyes towards young boys            panting
justifying purity?          boasting bright red veins    eye mirrors

 as merry poppins  toting umbrellas

                         singing      the hills are alive with the sound of forgiveness
But  rather lay awake in Ginsbergs' splitended beardspread
             forgiving Alm                the way in which he breathed
                        Alm and the smell of the fatted calf melting
     its burning throat    as silent as    the rolled up tapestries

                      dusting, unseen in silver fed cloud strings
forgiving mercury    as Alm and Venetian silk      drapes of skin
    lost in the myth carrying the same name

eat your stake it's

their forgiveness      lend to          

a trollies bone yard  its there    
      or we could be sitting in parks
a breath lost             found in parks   their mills churning

       and be writers of words  sold in the good kind of secret

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