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Monday, April 9, 2012

Lake Poem 8

Oh gigantic woman of the swept-away!
On my doorstep this morning I found a red feather from your headdress,

the one made from a thousand caterpillar eyes, the one made with the spleens
of a million snow geese.

In your body of waterwheels,
in your of scales and skins of figure eights, there were infinite clocks!

In your ten-thousand minnow fingers and toes carved from the tongue of turtles,
the humongous orgasm-based human origin of falling stomach-pits

mixed counter-clockwise debris suns
with the moldy decibels of half-eaten hotdog buns.

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