Boudin Noir

Sweet spit in the wound,

as ever, snares a spark.

Oh the covetous lune

where lightening strikes

an escaping heart.

Cart and beat

trot and sweet

rippling, crippling

stepped in it steep.

Excavating n-jins

like ears of corn

hungers mystical

edgeless endlessness

broken into like a magical storm.

Sunk into my knees

with a scorching flood of light

a side of red

gear box, bled

and to its bungee,

the cryptic knot tied.

Contagions of avoirdupois

at heavens rim

and pride of sin

a dark sweet spot.

Recursive, candle bombs

roaming rimming

booming zooming

fraught fought and plot–

Goes a long way

lasts, a lot.

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One response to “Boudin Noir”

  1. zortilonrel

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

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