Gorillas and spiders

Erupt me your putrid hands, that you claim are calm

This madness that we have provoked I enclose within you

And I ask you to enclose me

Away from this fathom–

There is this dusk that asks: sunset, May and winter sun this animal, that has no ask of us, our steps

That fly unlike


Just a rhythmic pause

In the traffic pause killed by my thought, we dine on all tethered hang-men,

The rope is wilder than eleven snakes

In hand! And a black hood that smells like orchid, and a cheap cloth that knows nothing

Of its life

We are chrome to a small purse upon a bed of blindness, taken, rolled and projected into helpless blades cutlass with no less

Care for the hand and with sways of appalling hills the sun repeats swoon;

Landscapes of sentient oaks, easy and cool thoughts applauding

The urge to take the iris away livens all ghosts and life

Before my rustiness is sent to go, by you, and my mortar is nothing–

The easterlings unwind, the city, giving way to pain, and it frames nothing

Is not left unmoved by your similar glance, and by the lie you let me know it all must be.


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