Wednesday, July 27, 2011

This without a that

* this without a that *
A swan of pigeons in my head
A buttercup of bats
All the world in measure thrown
Nothing is this without a that
Haemorrhaging banks and pockets
Kisses velvet in undergground essence
An oil rig of folly
All the best things in anarchy
And the worse in torture exercised
Pleading for a third galleon
Rich with golden yoghurt tended
Heat is as if whipped by frost
Darker nights than panda pelts
And all the soot across the sky
Migrating swallows cry.

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