Arsenic Lobster
poetry journal |
Issue Seventeen Summer 2008 |
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Still Come About from Beasts Ray Succre Still come about from beasts, and hymned at their sides, I and else, the upright scuts are the finer decay of the resolute. We all slop wakeward with heads in February and fertile crests. In hindsight, we’ve all met. I think I met death in the prologue. This showed me to suck my thumb and ask much. My times: Other perfunction under milk. My viewers: Their sequential dismay. Now? Anymore? Here? Ask the next. The reader pays a more piercing attention than what any ambient chronologist can bleed down. The summary is facet, compiled, inhumanly clear, and still come about from beasts. |
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About Ray Succre |