Sunday, July 3, 2011

Pook




It is a hand
which wields this sparkler;
lighting the wayward
streams of leaking gasoline.

Meat-trickled combinations
issue a fleshy quota
to understand the fatty
grey tissue.

An ear listens to
locate the prey;
an unsuspecting music
singing in infancy.

Singe stages past six
to nix the nullified accord
in so to bring back
a forgotten spoken word.

See-row E-lick-trick

Agreement signed in
the red ink which smells
so awfully
of iron.


-c thomas c-

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