Thursday, December 22, 2011


Watching blood swell
Along the dotted line
Dripping into the sink
Spreading into shapes
Into a psychologist’s
Wet dream down there
Amongst the lumps of
Shaving cream like
Islands rising from the
Prehistoric mists of
Incompetent ventilation
Erupting unstaunched
Of every barbarous
Imagination tracing a
Cross in the steamed
Over mirror keeping
The vampires at bay


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