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Monday, 26 March 2012

Merecedes Webb-Pullman-

The Servant’s Son

a car park transaction in carbide yellow
where illicit acts glow, grow flesh
spread power, revelation on revelation
into a tower of illumination too bright to see

profane in your work clothes
you tend to the nest’s outside

our blood under their thumb, sad brother

sighted violins close into claws
as silver fungus pours poisons
into cubicles solidly blue or green

strippers shake their tails, impotent as eunuchs
to suckle seconds; the earth is overwrought
here is neglect no brother can redress ---

flesh that's hot to touch: pale fruit, bleached seeds

in dance halls vast as vistas, masses
converge among the trees, rising up

I listen in to a closed system and miss
square, red, good-natured

brother, bride, from this mirror ball
with aphrodisiacs of sour mushrooms

emperors dismiss your every season

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