Monday, March 5, 2012

10

Our body, released of vaccines,
and rain skids down the sides of the sky
anvils resemble themselves
the world is a forest of flesh.
my kindnesses are clean, my voice
a book of gems twisting
like a Persian prince, the day sharpens
the icicles of Easter;
unfolding the mystical carved boxes
with my nauseous fiancee
I will live in a cellar,
the only antidote to fear

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