1926
|
IP:
center of clay, where the belt loops spew leather tongues
through the air of welt, bruise, and blue rendered saints
as the weather runs, down her masquera swells;
where the splintered reign clouds lifts her tender face
into the rains proud center of the universe.. to serve.
through her perched lips and swollen eyelids
the liquor bottle i kissed would sing her a model of bliss
blister of the wrong, center of the sinner spent
his leather belt whipped along the filter of a cigarette.
burn..
|