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Sunday 27 April 2014

Pablo Saborio

Because as an animal
I have fantasies
of god wrapped between
the lips of one giant vagina
the sweet dawn
dripping from my cock
naturally as
an animal I
dream of strange violence
of penetrating
with pistols and cacti 
spurting so much blood
breathless in the night
to bite
the conch of the world
all swollen with despair. 
NOWHERE else has there been a sharper
knife plunged into the heart
of things.
Only describing its pain
can flower like an open sound.
You are aching below a fountain
not understanding the symbols
of its raining lore.
Only a few more years
to dismantle the ailing tree.
Nowhere else has there been
more space to pretend a birth.
I have hunted the tears,
those machines whose flesh
is rotten without the reason.
Only a clod of questions
the wingless earth. 

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