Oct 9, 2011


Charline Von Heyl

Blue motley in the low cool
            dream of agave,
                        the cage door slides
on the moron & his
            conical helm; the one
with the answers, water
            in his guts in this
barren snow, winds whipping
            up tears
to a peak, harangued
            meringue, what we must eat
                        every day with our fingerless

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