the daughter

hand wrote:


its safe to say the fabric is on sale

descended hems of hunted grass


[he’s the gun shooting fucking coffee shop he’s not even good enough to be hell]


dies in a painting constellating


grown lucky in a wide valley        is milk based



[he’s the dirty water excremental poison on earth industrial agricultural and living thing waste]


the shins of the felt forest are lucent                      (pianists pant in the rain



seeps in cushions

next door to the dulcet lutes

used to laugh


[if science is beauty he’s a promise]


tomatillo tastes

seeds    pulse, the corded snow


9.2.13 012

One thought on “the daughter

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