Friday, March 28, 2014
fyglia
they contort each other
the anchor and the ideogram
one so as to be remote
and the other as sky
to test the buoyancy
of emptiness
pale grey oxidants
some imagine these
heavy overwrought black iron hands
wringing together
but the hip of the sailor cocks
toward the pivotal flic
no cigarette ever touched the water
sing seagull
sing crooked alley quai
in the valley of monumental bobbins
maru maru
in overcoat
the twin white lines
turn and go taut
where the twin black lines
interrupt their angles
throw a sponge in the oily ocean
these steel tri-pods of anarchy
will lift
every stevedore heart
but the spy lives more prudently
black tar table
holding only twin
black tar tablets
and with no legs
the gorgon eyes of the anchor
could be pushed up like eyebrow-hands
roman numerals
and poppies
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Irrony Observes The Earthing.