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This week's offering (a day late - sorry) is from a Cleveland poetics blog regular.
He came on a fury of grin vapors
when time was wine, space cream,
and he chose shelter in an ancient
diction. I can be the god
you never knew, the how and why
in your darkness. Elephant fiction
written in acid dreams at knife-point –
proper names changed in odd ways
to protect the sick and feeble. Eternal
listeners, I will make you ears. Big plans,
little starts and halts. Bits of lobe itched
our head holes until The Thirteen Fears
erupted. I bleed at every pore. Stunned,
we shot him high into the blue river.