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Some mad engine in the night
coughing and jumping out of it’s rust to
die in a half-dug furrow;
the balance of the dirt not planted with any other notion but
a deep new uselessness tilled in with the stones left there
like abandoned teeth fractured on a parasomniac’s stroll
or balls passed out after a night out on their own
Outpacing the slow wave sleep
even at a knuckle’s gait- at this hour it’s all even up
Dogs barking like mad because nothing is in color
rabid pastiche in orange anger
night wrung of all tone and form
salt wrung from the skin and leaving damask cyphers on your pillow
like the shorthand of murmurs tapped through a tenement wall