Tuesday, March 15, 2011

DETROIT HAS A CANCER


distressed knit husk, effloresces RoboCop syndrome
are these tropes lords of reality murder tv?
the flint’s new high-def gaslamp snuff,
blogging and sensation trickling upward from its ruins
the lucky knives of the renaissance, are
the beaks of suicide crows leaving
trackmarks on geological streaming

as of now I am no longer ashamed, at
the handyman’s toilet skidmarks 
my body’s entropy still beeps if
I twist in the cryptogram tunic
aluminum alloy stilts, of
the very gangster pancreas;
I want to instead propose remodeling this crime-fighting apparatus after
the Parisian dandy

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