Thursday, August 28, 2014


I. Hooks

Start now
With the sound itself
Dripping from off a tortured metal
Beginning with a breath and ending in a crash
An exhalation in trudging, the rise and fall of feet

But at its center is the sound of orgasm
Blood rushing in a grunt, solid its back
But dumb and heavy its eyes, with pupils black

And yes it pierces and punctures and flays
But I suppose it holds things well 

So now see
The shining thing itself
Hoisting her high as a peculiar fish, a Christmas ornament
A talis moth at a great but regrettable affair

II. Bats

O come and cull the air
Clasp back and knot her hair

O cut close to clip the sky
Ragged screechers from on high

O hurry out and now back
Be warned! How cruelly the moon drags her sack

O light O light O light O light
Nothing burns as you are bright

O harrying sons, O sonic seers

We are free but such dead little dears

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