zafusy

Though I go every
day to pick up the fallen
eaten eyes
of the world fondled
pomegranates always
there’s more to stoop and
suffer and some
few whose blood come
still shelters glitters
in my licked
fingers a face at
the next table or garnet
gaze there in the street
the skin torn flame
where it lifted from me
the throat groan
and the sunlit stumble be
merciless
culls for me.

Peter Rennick

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