Sunday, January 09, 2011



They dressed you in wind
to try and capture
what cannot be captured.
Then the oracles gave you
white lightning
so you could take on
the eaters of your navel,
horizontal men
with little, if any, air stream.
Your poetry spewed
into the epitaphs of ghosts
where chrome crosses
shone inward
and annatto phalluses
burned with salt.  

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