Monday, 18 May 2015

14. Slip

The morning is ladders and sandlewood
Soap without rungs
She tries to close her fist
The day starts slippy / gets slippiest
Spiderplants out of focus
She takes her life by a loose scruff
And stuffs it in the sack
Outside is bees and blood oranges
She works quickly
Kill all tomorrow’s flypaper
Shave all the things with barbs

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