Draining heavy the thick red vine
Moves without rhythm or any good
Reason except to appease the ever-glowing
Screen. More evidence lacking that
Youth brings the fruit of delicate
Skin, for underneath runs the river
Of a race that's left to drip slow
And straight up into the air.
This brain in my lap brought me
To empty places and filled it with
Faces and here I search for the
Next common courtesy or a
Grip to hold reality like a club
To make a mark. Accelerate this
Resting place and meet ends
As ends deserve to be met.
With bat or barrel or a
Blood-ready smile.
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