Slave Diaries

trimmed cyclops hide to bedding
and lantern too heavy the
bug's head pig iron code the
dog palpably with worms
a curr's din

all night
if the night were a flute
noting one lone campfire
on a distant hillside
a botched kill as melody

too many ampules to count
these sticky opalescent squalors
accreting in my mood
its found full fidget digging
through my bones
in television

a succor to the stupid trading
pushed as a puppet
and dogged
but thwarting
all bungles to stay
peaches with stringy greasy hair

no acting on exodus
while the sirens swim
this today as tomorrow
as yesterday
the stunted creek
of the rigid domain

cannot get free
it's written on my face
not pretty
my mask a lamb
with legs removed

gigue-chasm bottle
and wad-stopper
gut-hung in a windmill