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by grimbeau



Bay mare breeder, electric ether, head crazed

by on goings, sore to touch, touchily.

Tetchy little englander brought down to size

Colour, gender of choice, within boundless

Law: The Right of Light.

Torches rally, burn the beast, cauterize the earth.

Escalation, destination desolation:

regard slow time; report the truth; received

communication distorts, parts words apart.


Darwin’s social agents popped in for a peep,

Pick up old confetti, soaping soft,

the right boys to do a boy’s job. Inside

a cringe (a swallowed outburst still emits gas)

and a barbed stiletto of rebuke.

They and I are hamstrung by pace, them too

much, me too little. Who is piggy in the middle?

The I of the storm The individual…

The news is abroad, I wish it well on

its journey to ignorance, words are so cheap

They are Free