This Papier-mâché

The wicker hands

that led me here.

The cold relief of

something queer.

We’re big and we’re

feist and we whelped

through the ice

that was made to

make us stronger.

Apply the paint:

loose greens and

violent reds.

Then hang it up

over our beds.

It’s an animal

we praise and love,

stuck vast; lean;

grinning hard

from above.



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