blunt puppets flash their withers and tug on god
the tobacco girls and ivory boys
leave their skin behind
the black rash tethered like a moldering ketch to a star
garlands of floating pearls are poised for any rhythm
my shattered wound all smeary from thirsty work
(right)
six weeks since gray ghost shrieked a deafening howl
the moon trading souls with racing black clouds
the sun anchored on the smile-frown of blundering crows
total eclipse like burial in queer silver demolition dust
There is no use there is no use at all in smell, in taste, in teeth, in toast, in anything, there is no use at all and the respect is mutual. (Gertrude Stein)