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who
is not
fallen
in the teardrop
is not
filling
on the sleeve |
sit down and await
this side of the road
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stolen
& twisted
snifted
& wasted
a
corkscrew
begging
for release
she
comes
seeking
this
release
do not
wander here
forever
do not
run away
to hide
turn
and face
into her
coming
before those
twin mouths
taste you
before
in the cork
& the cold
in the break
& the two
come rising
from the water |
where
the roof leaks in
leaks stolen years
an in-visible lode
little grass heart
you are fifty times stolen
years come creaturely
go by, creaturely
an unborn flower
of nothing
Cezanne: Mardi Gras, 1888
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cattle of Apollo
takes away what matters
levies that against itself like a costly feather
bought & sold
& sought again
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& the thing gets twisted
here & bottled
and the life gets
shucked away and shorn
who
is not fallen
in the teardrop
is not falling into you |
unborn flower of nothing
bearing god
your likeness grows nowhere
the not-lived love divine
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within whose mouth
will have carried myth
seeding god
letting go
in cession
the god-bearer
you have unpossessed that it is
is what has still in an/other
a darkness of its own
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