Idolized Mysteries And Their Grandchildren

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Consider this a rogue consequence:
Francesco submitted to a dry heave,
Paced around
Discounted furniture-
Disgorging a trail of digested white-bread
And lemonade,
He pleaded:
“Don’t tell Holly about the stains.”

We have blemishes
On carpets
That streamline
Like clouds
Donating familiar shapes
To entice our imaginations.

Within the contours of vomit
I placed snake skin,
TV static and ant-hills-
On drywall,
“Forget the diamonds, Holly.
I’m your man.”

This is where collages discover essence,
Borrowing memories
Like professionals. And won’t the knife
Shimmer, gladly? And won’t the children
Play outside?

Francesco ate narcotics on a Monday afternoon,
But exotic tombs
Ring hollow.

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