bezoar – I

ni oblit, ni perdó          & the old abattoir   with its noir-rust         pro -tocols     hāl of qurb grey brawn  its  crowning organs    that reek of power  careening blood black  into the paladin   here the gaslight  twitching in larval fuss  must scarce us  into some spur of care here i must     hew myself         a tremendous fang – chine my spleen into the adder’s hymn  this long gland   this prized tooth    for the cudgel & its rot-faced etch           bite god on the wrist               leave sunny gashes along the body’s   incarnadine rosette    I – gilded   mormyrid I – ceral as frog-limb     amphibious as...

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