Tanks Of Flies

	I had the verbal touch
	The silver sliver of nexus
	Carved from the bloody water
	First-poured
	Form
	drowning
	Pulling down the moons and suns
	From the thighs of the queen
	Of grace and grinding
	The bump, the bribe, the breasts
	Made me slyly arise
	In
	clouds
	of candy
	Tanks of flies