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Almost missed it,
that tiny Coptic cross
tattoo... just above *my little nene*
from the lush back page of the daily dread,
fresh bird pepper and a fat worm,
all casually wrapped up
in old newsprint;
But—caught it,
even as the bridesmaid caught the flowers
through a plastic, deceitful betrayal
of teeth... as the grinning groom
stood there, bony, chagrined
his one pearly bullet
already wasted;
Lost—in slippery sputum,
with the ivory tusk that broke at dawn
into soft, pink caverns... ancient hieroglyph
of wavy, obsequious, intoxicating—aroma of hair
that dark honey scratched from the hive
with a fingernail, pounding
a febrile septum.
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..............Claire Denis............... what more?
© 2013 Created by Kris Rampersad.
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