Saturday, June 04, 2005

trappings of a prison

florid doses of sadness are diodes in codas, throwing codos
used like a road cracked in the weeds

she sunned off to Ursa Major
flicked the neighborhood

on the overcast men
sit lowercase
in their pickups and weep

& rest

assures we won’t
eat slaves

where we sit lest coffee will be
admission charged 1 day

I like the way you look like a fucked up Nursery rhyme
the battered only assume the position

till sundown MarĂ­a, you’re immaculate again
pillpopping past the Federales
a dream or a demon
lives in the cough box of your belly

3 coins in the fountain,
or 2 over the eyes

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