Sunday 9 May 2010

Axioautomatic


Pursued into gardens
of immanent shields
its head isn't an explosion
only the sound of 1
dreams of the dreamed

Molotov star

*

the Wavy alignment
of planetariums in this
cellar. Years earlier
its pockets jangling
tiger dust; & cooling their eyes & torture illusioned. Vein fabrics

stale Soap

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