pantomus (pantomus) wrote,
pantomus
pantomus

HURRICANE WEATHER

Her hair is slopped in morning wetness
When I hear her come to me.
Earthsoil black and crawling with worms
As if she were fucked by the five-some
Million in orgiastic prayer and minion.
Brinked with foul pleasure, you name her whore.
But darling I love you in a most chaste way:
A vision of the anointed one.
Night, you have lain your daughter out
Before me in careful rows,
Sharecropped dirt plucked for seeding.
The fruits one may only taste
When death is calling near.
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