Sunday, February 6, 2011

Lucid for Islands

I am lucid for islands
in a row, the pungent
refraction of sunny
nodules in the sheathes
brings a glowing
nostalgic parmesan.

Opaque holes clamor
for depth-defying
pestilence. Forward,
bliss, crisis, and the
pinwheel's ineptitude.

Fallen upon a kitschy
spark, the present,
and my shredded
pancreas sits in tubes.


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