Certainly I’ve torn starlings apart
with my bare hands,
while smoking a cigar
watched a pack of ravenous wasps
methodically inhale a horse’s head
until only remained
that glorious desecration.
Color always wins.
Color wins always.
Color always wins.
Color wins always
but some blood lasts
long past
midnight’s red.
Clockwork,
when I was an abortionist
I used to whiten my teeth
every 3rd Thursday of the month.
In the summer when it’s bright out,
flesh flowering everywhere
in sight,
I miss that job.
At my back the sun
flaws against
the evergreen grove
like some
fore-
suffered
pre-
destination
and I’m suddenly fussy.
Surely my mother loved me
too much or never enough.
Get back.
How
matters
more
than
what.
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