By this frighteningly simple lightning,
I let long rec-tangles of bodies stain my reflection
Between dark glints of raindrops
In our front yard.
On the limitless black limbs
Of the [e:] those dying oaks, rest the dead blues
Of Night.
Under the power position ( Antarctic Summer )
Huge metaphysical metal meat hooks
Gouge my sunken dim eye-bags and carry me
Down through sewer-molasses flesh
At life speed, a groan,
An ever-growing growl, deep
In the heat-death of the wet tight
Followerse.
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