My theology the theodicy said the theocrat

Bind him–backy out your mouth say bindim–
disquiets where the head falls off plucking
dirts up like Irish children naked in the hills
no letters ever trapped for long–howwhere everywhy
the women of life spoil it in the making
like bored Irish children in their balaclavas
waving the sport of their magnifying glass
at their mother’s eye–that melted scurrying
around tobacco rivulets old dad spoke in–
bound Augustine plucks the boil off his ass–
poor Pessoa leans on a counter–says
aren’t my animal heads out of my gut yet passed?


~ by Jeremy on October 13, 2012.

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