01 Boudin Noir

The spit in a wound

snares a spark.

Oh covetous lune

where lightening strikes

an escaping heart.

Cart and beat

horse and sweet

rippling, crippling

stepped in it steep.

Excavating n-jins

like ears of Mayan corn

hungers mystical

edgeless unfinished

broken into like a storm.

Sunk into my seas

a scorching flood of light

a side of red

and gear box bled

and bungee tied

the fatal — not.

Contagion fat

at heavens rim

and pride of sin

a dark sweet spot.

Recursive

candlebombs

roaming rimming

booming —

Goes a long way

lasts, a lot.

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1 Comment

  1. zortilonrelJanuary 18, 2021

    I like this site so much, saved to fav. “Nostalgia isn’t what it used to be.” by Peter De Vries.

    Reply
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