salchicon

I have been accused
Of hydroponics in the night,
A wimpled tart in stained glass
To the naked anvil and the bitter ripe
Lentils of the neutered paired to last.
Rank on my squishy and I’ll launch goulash.
Chalk up the old piano, blistered and rum.
Rocketships are a bitter herb.
Granted, there are some rings
That creak Appalachian stairs modestly.
My love is like a bathtub in a rodent crew
A smell you’ve never smelled.
Severed, released, the bus fare is crying.
Let down your stained sky blue pants:
Dimpled, squash, tang. I am alive.

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Photo by Christopher Alpizar Gaviria