Wednesday, September 10, 2008

Dear Deer Tick

When you were but an illustration
on the glossed plastic paper
underneath scratched sand glass,
you could have been any medusa head
slithering smiling suction, pea cot, succubus
in the forest that claims dune eyes.

Deer tick, you were there during blueberry butter
on red tuna canvas, aluminum fires churning
paint label fumes back at moss spheres,
demon woman cries in weeping wolf howls
while manbot brands his own tick ways,
implanting moon smiles.

For jaw flesh wounds crimsoned
mosquito nests on love tits, naked awakening
next to glowing still flame crickets,
but only you entering and latching on to
sliver pink surface that swallows then spits
but rarely releases, in there & here, together.

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