Monday, March 19, 2012

Six

One:

Kinetic, with all the mass of light lifting onely through
trepanning flaps and caught in violent atmosphere.

Two:

Tired lines are coiling slowly round the trim; wasted
flowers boil in rot; with a colour dried from overexposed film,
each petal crinkles.

Three:

Full up and overgrown, tonight is jungle hours, an unstately
shudder of signs, moon flowers, cat paws, the howls of jackals.

Four:

Lungs coloured rustly, thrust full with anti-freeze air.  Clots
spun, retreated, shrank in fear.

Five:

Hole in the head.

Six:

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