Saturday, August 8, 2009


Free pregnancies retreat from reason.
A soup of smoke, winds regenerated to threaten.

Intimate umbilical, intuition severed.
Bloody wetland primeval.

Duly abandoned by the flock, king-sized
Ripples host holes right through dips.

The mystical closeness of the vile.
Come death, a countdown so complacent.

And lips do their best to copy nature.
All this lack is potential use.

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