o.d.

and I get tired of them
getting behind the barricade
and tilting back the eyebrow
to find–
cousin to the ostrich
belly-laugher with the dinosaur
a knower of wallpaper and
the souls of spiders
a pre-paid package from hell:
fingers, toes, and melting tongue
which only wanted to sing
centuries of love
into a place so vacant
into such a vacant
place.

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