The Milk of Venus:5

5

You secretly despise the poor and the old. You loathe
everything unwashed and slow. The daze that falls like
an unkind sheet over them when they enter the store…
Days unravel, dog-eared and threadbare, spinning over
and against such heaps. Things salted melt into plasm
as hands forget the the cost of motion in December.
With detritus for skin. Deep empty rooms for eyes.



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Anningan (in progress) http://www.lewislacook.com/Anningan/AnningansDoor.html
http://www.lewislacook.com/
http://artists.mp3s.com/artists/385/lewis_lacook.html
meditation, net art, poeisis: blog http://lewislacook.blogspot.com/


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