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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: May 22, 2013

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Submitted: May 22, 2013




a morning rope hangs and loops

into a porthole

to the lush fathoms of the sinning Sea;

her blackberry jellies occasionally bursting

with sudden fatherless birth,

or as a dead duck plummets

softly into silt.

she thrives in herself,

a nasty drunkard pilot,

shaking her bellyful of fermented inborns-

their tiny skulls clacking,

their thin mewling sounds straining thinner

poor things chew each other

without knowing.

from her drooling head

flies the scent mummification

stringy olive sinews hang limply

from the lower lip

thickly lidded eyes always at dusk,

a numbskull cannibal alone in her waste

of afterbirth, enzyme smeared to her elbows

but her jade-skin ripples glistening

fine-cut facets with every

sweet, seraphic face of the sun.


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