Apr 28, 2011


Cease to dream
when awake, nothing
to lord over the temple
of breath, moments
not squashed a victory
of sorts.  Take it easy
or die, attached to
nothing but the salt
earth, sea, the great
destroyer--destroy me;
green mouth that drinks
crude, needles, all
the lost, all the shriven
Purr or roar, wrap around
the last real darkness
like god: that placard
at every fucking funeral;
at last she dissolves
all those goddamn footprints
in the sand.

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