…s

in the holy aeroplane the wind tears the words from the mouth…blue cadillacs rutting along pink beetles…an oaken elder sheds dandruff like leaves…fisherboy on a grassy bank where the bob drowns…the deer are blind to the orange blaze in the forest…forked tongue tickling a wee babe’s cheek with a sound of a rattle…rain of putrid and stinking tomatoes bloodies the fleeing man…the red hourglass makes its way on a dewdrop’d thread…Death angels in the field of play, white and luminous amid romp of child’s feet, hooded fungus of unholy beauty in the rain, drinking from the vibrant grass.

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