A ton of muscle
Crammed into
Makeshift levers
Made out of
Bobbing saints
Who eat
Chocolate mints,
Was grooved into
Etched glass
As daddy died
And svelte cotton
Pickers mourned
Like jerked chickens.
Cracked riding helmet
Stuffed with
Spent cartridges
Ruining mantled
Pierced porpoises
That smile,
Was interred along
Dirt-laden shelves
While brahma cried
And sleek muddy
Bottles laid up
Like mottled hake.
Rusted slater’s hammer
Peeling up
Hide handle grips
Stuck onto
Bagged celery
That flopped,
Was selected for
Transparent battle
As sissy shrieked
And tarnished nimbus
Crowns came alive
Like baking prawns.
Sept. 8, 1993
Queenstown, MD
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