Friday, October 24, 2014

MAKING VINEGAR

Wasn't it all just
so lame!—how when 
push came

to shove—late last
night 
at around five

in the would-
be ripe
climax of morning—and the 

moonstomached and
rotting old
God of the past

finally bucked-
up against
that wine red and salty bright

wave of the future—

the skirmish that
necessarily followed
only resulted—inexorably

in a slow dribbling
slobber—of 
pisscloudy purple?

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