Thursday, October 9, 2008


Seems a fright
to loathe the monster
and pine for the teeth,
tears in the screen door,
flies hover,
perineum twitch.

Startled by toes
between my cold wet feet,
gutters groan
drowned in promise
while unlocked gates
squeak in a primal wind.

The tension of this long meal,
devouring hours,
It's always warmer
where the cannibals perch.

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