Strung out on the collar

Through the gurgle so it bothered:
swallowed one egg’s drip in a raindrop
wrapped around its lavender neurons
themselves like a country
of relaxing dead on smooth stones,
where people drift by the sunlight
deflated, feeling each one the dirt
on his cloud-wetted face,
& would seek the clean water
below, would suck in the basin below,
would stutter in the wash
his first words stripped there
like the rest of him bare
& made an it by sweet-water
which would first pass well,
lay in a coil, in violent swell
& flashboil the human away
until what was left was it,
a mutant hanged from the pulpit gay.


~ by Jeremy on September 2, 2010.

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