The world has washed
Its body in the gurgle down the stiff bodies
Interspersed in climate and cloud of the green bones
The world has chosen me
An organ within bleeding
with plush impulse
and metonymy
of a cult-fused moon
thriving on electric shoot
charged from its throat
all fingers in music
all fingers strumming the basics
to watch him cry
to watch him seasoning in the sun…
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