Swinging Crescent Moon

by dschapman

Endless movement of the Godless night inside you, stinging bliss – tugs at the side of your eyes, drains your lymph from their nodes – inside the second beating dusk, under purplish graves of a crystal-sphere sky, in isolation – desert-like, in tendency; musk; money lost; shy, impatient – flagellation, milk its sweaty teats – milky streams of mercury, puddled in the palm of your hands, like having mirrors in your hands…

 

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