Friday, March 2, 2012

Book of

Shut your mouth when you're day dreaming woman and
cross your legs and take your hand from your wetness
and wash it and wash Him away and put your
cross back up on the wall before the flowers wilt
and don't ever confess to what's happened here
now and be lost in forgetting this accident and
maybe catch some liquored train to pounding sleep
thick like some suffocating black cloud
or kiss or silk scarf or holy tar or
some Christ parable that wraps you in
filthy love or some abstinence that
will never be sincerity or
eat a bar of soap child or fondle some photograph
laughing until your head falls off your shoulders or
share with anyone how incredibly
uncomfortable you are with your
chemistry and meat or do nothing at all until
you wrinkle and
rust into
beautiful peanut to be planted
in the ground to make
a sad sort of a bush that
rasps at small children and tells
fantastic litany in coal miner
voices and
it never ends
it never ever ends

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