Monday, March 04, 2013

Some kind of gnostrilcism


we snort from the cathedral of the nose
noisemakers, lemon joyous

hands up-raised hallelujah
on the steps of the lips we are closer

take all our ribs and make from them forests
not women: we have worn seven layers

we have worn six
wearing five is flying skin like cloud

the twin mosques of the nostril
the synagogue of shnozz

outside we are ourselves on the chin
spring hot jubilant

iridescent wonder skin
a radiotelescope dish

for rays and exultant shredding
all books on our bodies written elsetimes

superceded by sun and the bright out
nosedness of day

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