Tuesday, April 17, 2012

Microwaveable: a Lyric Poem


we love force
comb the ant tribe

like distant writing
shed forelegs

stimulants, guns
without safety or craft

we are spores without souls
we work like fruit

drain the sea
with our dogless wagging

what’s the desiccation of another jelly fish
the death of farflung lungs

inside, our cells do the wave
when the moon stumps by

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