augury doggerel

Saturday, March 09, 2002


This arch tongue of Christian church passion and village song is burned slick with shot alcohol and cheap cigarettes, cleft and healed and charged true with soft-eyed calves disemboweled and fish catch and eels, measured from autumn crouch among mushrooms to swollen white sausage whistling on winter stoves, pushed past children´┐Żs incisors to mock and to lick the last. Conductor of the soul's choir, guardian of the zero chasm we all must sound, it is a long tongue to butcher.


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