Untitled
wearisome is the ardent wine,
icy corridors
we sooty birds descend nimbly into nests
high in drear corridors, collecting leafy glisten
among the psychotic-seeming industry
and throng of souls' bitter rinds.
i, tunneled roots, blackened bark clinging
feebly peel away, reveals then
what teething bishops sung.
a petty triumph of marrow... boxcars and
boxcars clangin' fertile to the
fallen ladders
Copyright © Haamb Cranoplie | Year Posted 2008
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