Friday, April 6, 2018

Bust of Tlaloc

dim neck yr squalid g
asoline ,if air were oil ,a
crust the road yr leg f
lops on ,or rabbit swim
ming in a ditch ,where laun
dry wavers in fallen
wwind or brreath's g rime
,when clocks re verse ,st
inking in a tree your head
's st ormed ,aimed be
hind a bb urning hat a slo
gan's corn bustion loss ,drip
ping down your shirt
or buttoned skin

ne ck
c lock g rime
e at y our s kin


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