Monday, 4 June 2012

Little Deer

I dreamed of Frida Kahlo
yo era ella amante
pure, paupered prince to her primal queen
yet still I hollowed a carnal niche into the midst
of one perdurable, lurid  noche de los muertos
where I fingered the lachrymose from her lacerations
and counted prurient  time in a piercing nine of
perennial persecution then wore her pelt
to lay me down in her sanguinary glow

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