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March 19, 2006
the circus mold
a higher flame
beneath the kettle
produces nothing brighter
than similar results
I can fumigate the toxicity
from a nylon screen of blurred transparancies
with the sweep of an atlas
yet
the blade gleams in the sheeth
the cross has been hammered onto the bullet
the ax has found the grindstone
and every doorway is either locked
or lurking
the candlemakers
left my face to mold in the wax
we all know
nothing shall be carved
in stone
wooden sprockets in the merry go round
slop grease and tears
onto trampled bags of popcorn
after the last horse on a pole
abandoned the missionary position
overspray scratches tumbled stucko
every third light and his brother
is burned or blowed out
and the morning only produces sunlight
that paints wheat the shade of tanned hides
ashtray have been overthrown
and returned unwhole
the canvas awning sags
stoops to the level of the hamburger cart
black kittens climb urinated stairwells
serching for their echo
succumbing to the shadows
nothing grows
in places where the dying
are encouraged to do just that
Posted by Drexler at March 19, 2006 07:51 AM