Thursday, July 14, 2011

WARSAW VISOR

a rather dry and wrinkly flare grew from the martyr, into the sky like
a mushroom on a zombie ant's head
heaven wore an assistant's grimace, at a massage parlor when
cleaning away the oily offal
break a secret tiny bone, and it would paralyze a flea
it's wearing ginger ale panties dependent on the traction
of a mongrel coccyx - algebra coerces in mysterious ways
each employee on Wall Street is given a cute ladle
in the past they'd worn the Warsaw Visor, and
my carcass's carburettor had been soaked
something definable enwrapped, or tumbling in
the unutterable washing 

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