Wednesday, October 9, 2013

Drip, dribble, void-black sap that drops
into the cup. Lips thin thick chapped
wrinkled and cold-sore'd touch
and their respective heads wake up.

Stencils on a ring-rounding hand organ
Dance or read or type or knead
but all bend when the music stops.

If I rend from them their pitch liquor
they would droop for a fortnight
and then perk up again
like a monkey that pulls a thorn from its sole.


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