and then at the rainbow’s end

no weeds the sea gave birth to a featherbed of air the sentinel on the hill seized the frying-pan with which otters are made in the cavern beneath his feet the glowing flowers of cinnamon and ice emitted a high C-sharp there were none to hear their naked corpses strung from a lamp of snow

the blue horses of morning meet the elbows of afternoon

here where the days melt into a puddle of scented oil no beetles skim the offal of an unforgotten song our hair is braided with anthracite and jewels and our mothers smile at the lewdness of our bones why do we mutter the words that our children will drown we have no faces we have no time to be young and the clouds that cover our skin crawl over the ground

the quaint policemen clamber from our brains

over and over again a million times no-one came there were too many yew trees for that and then again when the lightning speaks the leaves of the thunder grow dumb and in my hand a blade and a chrysalis

take these several lines and knit a shroud a canister for those who bend their limbs in an alphabet of wings that fall from the sky that the jellyfish of night will be pelted with stones

my bladder is a luminescent pearl

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