The Lunch.
Love is a hunch
back notre
damn.
Beckons for a reckoning
but falls, still falls
riven with enthralls
as way into epiphanies.
My undressed pail
as a belly of whale
animating
in and out of your frame —
Lovely dementia
grafts of holy cabbage onto
logic of habits
and treasuries its rabbits
hopping out,
Of the body in my head
driven by
plethora
rolled up in foil
overseen by
terrifying goyles
love is an insurrection
scaling to the middle
loopy and frightening.
Wakes a gamble
with trust
and hanging on the line
spooked by chance
sparks an avalanche
love for anything
ponder wander plunder
oh bait. Tease me off
madness gull goes tree ways
and free ways
blinded by dick tat
the grift is impatient
sleepy progress
riddles in a riot of
shifts.
Nobilating
lures staggering
holy cures. Shaking out
forest where they burn
commissions interrogated weavers
emboldening fevers.
Bad dads and screaming moms.
A bloody minded rectitude
pins sun to its violence
as violets on a risen moon
avenge the regolith,
careen like duckets.
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