Aught, no. 11/12 (2003)
Down Heyday Leave Horses Dance
bites stay by back window nightways, making lost like
sleep with an open trigger... you stowed my smell, but
the handful a' blood was mine, stolen from animals...
around their wrists were death beads
& I like your have-love, stranger
I'll mention none other as dice below fingernails
nor as coral dust hands for words,
I thought up days with legs below
nightwalkers I called 'em, but the term is friendly-like &
literal... to dust-love at blues breasts, at least...
burial at sea & nowhere have dirt drink me
I've thinks extraordinary that swim you, sea spinsters'
witch odor, feet shed underwater
Copyright © 2003, by the author.
All rights reserved.
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