12.07.25
High Density Polyethylene
air clad toy the roof is burning
soufflés the day of mouldwrap
in my eyes is a reshe
under pisspoor catechisms
class vengeance the lapwing
of all history iring in the mid-distance
squealing welts 70 dead
& still pack up your roses
aborted the coldness talking
to the dead again
& the rustling of inter-lined Burberry
men to Subiton scared
out the paraded end of days
its whorl of vespers
solid light things fall & dissolve
like sense in sandstone
what hurts more
the good blood racked
by the whiteness of my cells
or how it multiplies
its ribbons
to the quietest possible sense
for it could be suicided instead
