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In eyes something pale and
shifted
to become so hungry
to wait for thinnest
wafers
in
formica city hangers
where aeroplanes smear
terracotta
with perfect posture
into lines and
structures
Oh hungry eyes hung on
jets
there is ice cream in the
clouds
and rainbows and
lightning
and a wheelbarrow in the sun
oh hungry eyes give me
you
oh hungry eyes give me your
straw
I am waiting for the sky to
open
with perfect posture
standing with stars in my
joints
So polish your brass
doorknob
polish your walnut and your black
pen
polish all of France and find the
port
clip your heels up on wet
stone deck
to that black sausaged steam,
green bound
and we will go to where we can be
born
into the sun, into lines and
structures
standing with stars in our joints
after sun
a little house or a little scorpion
or a centaur
tacked into the
noticeboard
chests pointed at the next
galaxy
hungry eyes hung on jets
and rainbows and
lightning
Come seven day advance
give me that slip
I would leave tomorrow for you
if I could and whip across the
whole wet country
in a tired plush train
smelling dusty teabag and the breath
of children
hungry eyes
hungry eyes
something paler and
shifted
standing in sky-high
windows
with perfect
posture
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