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Friday, January 21, 2011

The Crying Cloud of Marduk [Refire]

there is a god
to sort through the phony confessions
flowers of masochism
at the end of every accusation
which flagellates
from your soul to mine

i cloister inside you
pure as a pardoner
i eat sacred grammars
from the language of parrots
until my truth becomes a circle
in the yawns of demons
heads drop through puddles

Mother Mary!
i see you are teeming with hell
usurping the wind with rain
which eats you well

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