a pang
and syrup trips into
the neuro pool
(a sweet sludge
that vows god)
crimson clots babtize
blue knuckles and trojan sperm.

at her feet...
the wrapper pirouettes,
the rusted fan exhales illicit smoke,
and reveries of angels
dangle from nooses
(wings clipped by the language
of loud men)
a liquid twinge
and a lick of the lips
as the pearl unearths its strand.

06/01/2003

Posted on 06/02/2003
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