Sunday, January 29, 2017

AF #1

no questions no wonder no dreams.
no secrets just gossip.
Is this what they had in mind,
from the stage?
Ripple white like the hem of a toga pulled aside
– voila for all the family men, all the polar fleece.
But fuck you from my bluetooth,
fuck you from my broom.
The tile will never be clean
the skin will never gleam
& meanwhile mineral earth 
remains unnamed:
to smell a thing  
this solemnly

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