XVI from Endemic Gospels
Leave thee inside office, post me
speeding up, ineluctable conformity lying, shipwrecked, the boy dreams in taps, an alleluia-type cry to keep from falling into wake, her slip’s linen slunk down stairs from high’s panicked silence: closing down the separation asks to leave, asks: tu fini? gin-picked by salt & for safe keeping, sweet-meats, lips prettier at threshold, still lit from below the painting on stage, hundreds clung to feet & et tu slapdash, piece of ass: consider it: him amid me, its limbs.
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