OURHANDSBLANDLANCESFOREVERBOUND each bound hand another
porked virgin in the glass cut with the fury of non understanding for the teenaged mass crescent christians loom like butter knives against perms blasted pickles squirming out from loams of sperm these northern accented mustards ohio squadron of alimony dead to the world except my sunrise bellowing feathered gumballs childhood is a lakeshore filling my antiquated maps the staves release us sprightly twigs among livers bland lances numbers of alcohol in dim sister’s throat I’m born of medieval shopping malls before hindquarters’ dimes spin insertions playing earth hymns and museum rhyme Larry Sawyer
