fragrant lychee blossoms | 1 |
fill the stale air, | 2 |
wafting over the field | 3 |
of dried and deserted | 4 |
chamomile. | 5 |
| |
at night we don | 6 |
crumbling masks of superiority, | 7 |
sliding ring-tipped shaman fingers | 8 |
through scraggly hair, | 9 |
weaving ink into air, | 10 |
wrestling bamboo shoots, | 11 |
like placid placebos. | 12 |
| |
unwrap your plastic hair | 13 |
from the mass | 14 |
of cellophane souls; | 15 |
the crucifix is alight | 16 |
with LEDs, | 17 |
and in homage | 18 |
to the cursed, | 19 |
a thousand men | 20 |
each cracks | 21 |
a glowstick to life - | 22 |
a tidal wave of tears | 23 |
erupting on the ocean's surface | 24 |
like beaded molten fireflies. | 25 |
| |
molting and mating intertwine, | 26 |
a liquid viper | 27 |
spills a second degree burn | 28 |
across my shoulders; | 29 |
gold leaf flutters | 30 |
around my face. | 31 |
i grow statuesque, | 32 |
chiseled, | 33 |
my toga trails into | 34 |
the deep blue night. | 35 |
| |
goodbye cacophony, | 36 |
Arthur Miller hangs himself | 37 |
by his own intestines | 38 |
in a pile of manure. | 39 |
i sit and rot | 40 |
in a storage shed, | 41 |
though i am more human | 42 |
than you can ever hope to be. | 43 |
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