Tuesday 7 April 2009

packt like, pack-it like

shanti weavedin your hair through your full beard
through ears and eye lids dropt like tinfoil
painted over like blinds
creepingcrawling packt with hysteria
words, all we have 
time is running out! 
nestle my head into
flying squirrels red brown little men in striped suits
 an army of me

dissonance! guilt ridden outpourings more, again
 packt like tight tobacco

into your atlas shaped deserts mountains seasides blue grey eyes the eating of the man
the drilling of holes the dropping into ends
under trees crawl into the insides of chicken flesh and buffalo meat unmarked but for your native squiggles 

 dropping like flies packt into your- mouth how many would fit? open your mouth to see! blow them out like smoke rings think of this: billowing clouds of flies  

buzzing buffoonlike 
i situate you in my perlocutions 

uzak! there are worse games than waiting games and i wait 
packt like sweaty men in bottles of fruit vodka

do your mothers eyes see through my radiance?
 

 

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