Sunday, December 8, 2013

the lake

in the slathering shelves a
neck ,or formin streams ,th
e e e ants s s s yr leg in
hales ,or rip aeneid fog
a ,conFlagration ,b lack p
ages br icked inside the
w alls ,if walls were mou
ths ,the titled bindings’ dus
ty rain gilds my hair ,s
warming text or th
ought ,what’s drained and
g ripped the mirrored codex
where yr tongue’s sucked back
,and out ,the re direction’s ver
sal’s lasrev once and ecno a
gain niaga ,after the qua
king end ,and a face t
urned edisni inside out the trans-temporal library...
inscribed with nearly microscopic
texts...a thin hovering frame...
- Lanny Quarles


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