Life living in thoughts to leave soon

The parade my honkies threw stained
the tarry pit of morning darker than
the center of organisms, than water
where its hue has all its constituents
walk here en mass and protest my sleep,
and that is my parade, what I obssess over,
the apple and mandrake and the forehead
that is my pillow, me here pillowless
washing my ears in hearing wives
pile up to their ankles showing like
a piling of fig branches poisoning thoughts
nature had when it asked just what
was it thinking too when its first babies died.
A bad mother, but about this parade,
I got faces per molecule, I got so much room
in my stomach the whole story may sit in it,
I got night-long day-long year-long lyings down
that ache, they ache how acorn or ebony
aches on the ground wishing it were useful,
like necklaces pretty little women get
and bend for, learn the smell of brooms,
or how those animals know gigantism, too large
to smell the flowers my feet trampled over
with the boy I slept on over them too,
and I broke their necks, and they did not complain
and I visit them because I cannot him
and I pretend under crippled flowerings there is he.

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~ by Jeremy on January 14, 2011.

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