Thursday, March 13, 2008

Poem XXXVII

salacious vert
foul lust
lizard false idol
of tawny skin and
salty black hair
that lives and dies
inside a moment
trapped beating
breathing release
onset no peace
or joy state of mind
just baited
anticipation
for the limpid wet
of spent fury
in the morning
bourne that we
hate ourselves

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