dimorphous expressions

checking out
the stain and now
mom says
it’s over

you don’t believe it:
that’s night. its radiance
makes potentate
no, i’m rather
filling out with weapon
and spilling over with new smell

which, begging,
snuffs at the hemline
of velveteen and its
got winning
set into the deep cleft
of its very clay

you loom spiderous
floating down the walls
of your corner room
the primed corpuscule

who twists skin crust
into its own gilded mucous
shining in its very contrast

grazing at the ceiling
and touching more with words
oh, it is good



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