segunda-feira, 10 de março de 2014

Blood Flee

Blood Flee 

Blue Moon in mendacious compass 
imprisoning the shells in the stars 
Rembrandt as the face of the foreman 
pedantic light of his eyes extinguished the candles 

the black wolf in Montes Claros 
apache on ghost ship 
with its own language of its members 
junketing sailors in the poultice 

innocent souls served 
on silver tray 
tattooed virgin 
with blood running off the door 

revive my powers 
Summon my children 
pronounce the masters 
snapping bones like twigs. 

Arthur Nett 

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