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As the dying in the courtyard sing of roses,
bettalpha

II
 1
I palp pestilence with my touchicles;
 2
an assortment of flamboyant and nervous beasts,
 3
their flourishes hidden in damaged shells,
 4
          in the rigid unfurling of sugared rose petals,
 5
I discover concave dialogue;
 6
hands under clothing
 7
as another funeral cortège passes by.
 8
 
 
I
 9
Coming down the road
 10
lined with low, neatly cropped hedges
 11
and unnaturally violet cobblestones,
 12
          four men appear dragging a laden cart.
 13
They look like butchers in their black bowler hats,
 14
in their stained leather aprons. They are not butchers,
 15
they sweat and curse in fear.  
 16
 
 
/
 17
It is a blind day
 18
           on the T of all things;
 19
someone is daubing red paint on the door,
 20
    which opens onto the demesne of beasts;
 21
 
 
IV
 22
                                     it is a dense moss;
 23
binding the crumbling, underside of healthier days;
 24
open wounds: dullness of laudanum memories;
 25
              an invincible low note.
 26
 
 
X
 27
The beasts unpurse my lips and I exhale.
 28
 
 
“The carnivorous cactus flowered in the night,
 29
       with sticky black and yellow flowers”;
 30
 
 
IX
 31
                                  we love again;
 32
slowly this time, so pain does not lose its sense.
 33

30 Oct 09

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Comments:

strange but cool poem-
I'm not sure what 'touchicles' are but it's a funny word-
anyway, you've got some cool things happening in your poem
but I'm not sure I completely comprehend..
sometimes, it don't matter
if it's an entertaining read...which it was
 — JKWeb

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