Nothing
Burns
Do you
Do no harm?
Little
Bloody skirts!
Where are your opiates
Your nauseous capsules!
If my moth
Would marry a hurt like that!
If i could
Bleed or sleep!
Exhausts portrays the technique
Assonance
Dulling
And stilling
But colourless
Colourless.
The box is
Locked and dangerous
Din
In it
Dark
Dark
Square
As a chair
Coffin
Of a midget
A
Square baby
Unintelligible
Syllables
I lay my ear
To furious latin
Box of
Maniacs
Tiny affrican
Hands
Fat
Gold watch
New
Statue
I’m no
More your mother
The cloud that
Distills a mirror to reflect its own slow enffacement
Moth
Breath