Friday, March 12, 2010

scald, s'called, scale'd

the mouth's interior tastes like gasoline
it hints itself, never intrusive
sliding inward like black liquid goldmines
to the depths of the throat cavities
it soaks in the large intestine
a taste
an odor
sensation
a vice up to your sinuses

your eyes are brimming in butane, ready to burn
they're soaking.

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