Peter Grieco. Eighteenth Reply.

EIGHTEENTH REPLY

leather faces
hardened into granite—

sparkplugs in the sandstone

plundering ourselves opaque—
gloves off

a hijacked foundation of petri dishes
cascading over old burial grounds

isomers fitted onto
millions of billions of moons
that die when you close your eyes—

drowning leeches in gasoline—
the few, the far-between

legs boiled over with black holes
hunger
for the death of light in the mountains—

a microscopic scaffold—
fermenting in the
dark
of dank dwellings

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