Friday, April 10, 2009

How To Raise A Snowmobile

Rosa



tried to wash away the yellow white and gray,

to sleep before and not to seek cruelty to the truth.

to be trivially submissive, as good as the back of a cat

automatically to the touch, to accommodate, acquiesce,

to enjoy sheets dry and fragrant,

to embrace the big woman who looks a lot like me,

that with all his stump without vibration

thanks, with all herself, pharmacologically

away the nightmares of swords hoes bottles neuro soiled underwear hidden somewhere

expired and snacks under the bed, the eye of the great lawn Dry

imprisoned in a dog beaten, bloated, balding,

a spectrum with large hands, the bike, big brother, a big circular saw, profanity

non-alcoholic beer and it stinks, it stinks of a man, old things, and slapping patriarch,

clotted blood, empty kitchen, three nell'anfora miniature violets.

Hold my hand, smell my mother's womb, black and white crumpled,

his ankle powerful, urticaria stiffened, chin line.

cries in the middle of zombies, his gun leveled.

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