Dead moon at the center,
Radio on, night.
Headlights on the water,
rippling,
You can't have me,
I won't go, I'm not yours to
Derailed--in dark fog, derailed.
Dove to death- in foul weather, to
Blackest art is what we deal,
Drawing chalk lines in your
Saturn turns the day to devil light,
a meliorating, monstrous satellite.
Shaded,
You backwards, snake-bitten sinner
You trumpet-believer-sounder
You lushed-up, s
My prisoner I trusted not to bend,
Didn't wince or cry.
And,
When he sits you down, when he makes you eat.
When
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