| Trash exclusive The dust crawls over the fallen/ sunken The eyeballs teem with touch and feel Slithering from reel to myopic real stung on a moving, ebbing roll The dust calls out to verge and vacuum The poor lids soar with vehement zeal Simmering, laced with fetid fuel Culled from apparent stills of framing The dust dries out the doubting devils The mites of man drag out the drivel This shuttered lens shoots an even keel With a crush under salacious stagecoach wheels The dust drills holes in heart and favour The molten hags suck the martyred weather With strands of stalky eyesores, hung Upon dunghill garlands, in the setting sun While hordes of highways shuffle and cluck beyond the vineyards nape The dust goes ape on beating bosoms The fingers crawl from flashing chasms The lashes stitch the visions lesion-- Sordid intermissions in the proof-read rain |