David scrambled

Sculptors had it right, the shake
of boys knowing death like it was normal.
Their morning, their breakfast
that shook them so didn’t it? Was
a body of water and muscular quake.
An enhancing of whatever planning
made them wake, or curve so that
made them disappear their fat.
Such skill in tricks and appearance
and coyness and deafness
when asked why not alive,
but would remit because they eat sins.
What they said. An apocalypse
could only glance them, would hold up
their tonsils, mucus, antics
as whole stars burst from hunger
for them. For them, it was for them,
or at least I am convinced and
those tables on their chests
never to bear milk, but to bear
an earliest of mornings where
one could feast on fullest breakfast.

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~ by Jeremy on January 11, 2011.

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