anointed elevator shoes, something abnormal about them
standing by a bedside
some years ago, one nightfall
during the Annihilation of the Comatose
methodically enacted in anonymity
(by hooded Mr. Halternoose)
and his wife with big jugs,
in purple garters. Depressions in the pillows
where their knuckles held so fatally firm.
'Litter' of eleven unremarkable bodies
with the ill logic of just as many 'suicide notes'.
A chorus of crows furnishing the couples' teeth
with gold amalgams
reflecting the flaws in & to each of the two faces.
Liberal slap fights with vulcanized rubber
while standing on several sea green sawhorses.
Breathlessly giddy talk of (hopefully) defective prisons
and their poky little dreams.
Flouting the tiger-laws of Papa Locus...
their wholesale takeover of Empire Autos...
faint, ivory-shaded notions sinking into nothing.
Like squatting over upturned scissors.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
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