very rough . . .


bit my tongue
on some thinned-out
Polish bread
and it’s a bloodlump
the invertebrate
of the tongue

when with contempt the exposure of dust in the daylight: a fertile stasis above
the hills of a shelled-out city: the liver deposits
unconscious memory: from blood
simple that wish in the water: to think
it’s true asleep among the shadows: hieroglyphic indifference
with the little nibs
of forethought: time is the event: memory is a monkey
in shattered glass else a cool shoeshine: squeeze out
heat from a pile of salted bodies
ready for the fire: sharpen yr knaves: there’s a silent menace
in the carnivorous loaves:

the bones are baked with leaves: the body is being read: red being
pumped out and taken in: what is the destination
of vibration on water: chilled out
terror of acceptance: it’s not a simple jive
among the metaphors