Thursday, 4 March 2010


there were scents of woodsmoke ,of bur
ning wet wood .the truths coming through
made patternless coordinates there

were people & they got sexed
as gods of the blind city
eat infants .intermediary

.wings over black hyacinths.
& cries of bri
ght demolitionists

& lovely silks at her feet.
there were odours of burning wet wood ,cement

cries of cries of cries cries cries of cries of cry
as blind infants of s
exed gods the

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