Saturday, November 01, 2008

Dorothy Shorn

awake in a field
of poppies, her underwear
missing, the lion mewling

on his back in the distance,
everything is glitter --
her skin glows like

she's been licking a light
socket, she touches her head,
the braids gone, under her finger-

tips, her fuzz feels as sweet and
strange as a monkey
lost in the milk barn, a riddle

that can only be answered
with an axe or egg

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