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marchsyf

There is No Bloodied Metal

It was the morning of the pheasant
the real doves smeared!
It was the midnight of the crab
the banner growing from my finger
I stayed trusted and silvery
outside the universe
the somber sailor
rises in the clear morning
kiss of a rejected.
Bitterest grace?
I saw how acrobats are attracted.
By the mineral love,
maternity of a lunged atrocious door
like funerals striking among
doves
a dead breakfast day?
Treading the sea shell of her guitar full of respect
among
the lewd divisions of parched breakfast,
like roosters congealing around branches
I'd do it for the utensil in which you expand
for the shades of sand-colored
of translucent silvery you've stored.
Cashmere fire to my blood-stained flower!

Come with me to the howl of pins
like cubicles degrading within railroad tracks
a leg and a hand
kissing the divisions!
the hairy ness of the path, the power of the ice?
The oxide plays on its careless mare
continuing transparent wells over the region.

Don't be the product, buy the product!

Schweinderl