Black
Friday disciples
kneading
massed
wafer
adhesion
toward
a Monday’s
bent
board wean
the
needs of words
come
to their senses
spending
endless
future
sentences
in
moments of urge
crushed
and arranged
by
molecular mass
in
the centrifuges
of
measured time by sale
so
in line am I
that
I too
enjoy
the view
lifting
the skirt
standing
behind
desire
and
smells
reigning
from
fear
to
upheaval
from
a seagull’s, mountain low wade to wind
to
the tides’ flow and gallow-lathe of sins
comfort
here
is
parsed
to
infinity to fit in
all
hail
all
hail
mother
to
the blind
ohm
ohm
ohm
the
poem is the glaze
that
hypnotizes
the
ride
of
freighted chains
the
count
of
syllables
and
disciples
the
sound
of
spilling prayers
and
seed bibles
EJR
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