Written by Jack Andrew Cribb

thin godhead skin stretched vaguely cheerful
over the harmless bones of this architecture,
spilt paint like bloodstained glue peeled off
the fingers,
beating thing like breakaway island,
beating thing casket-fresh,
only thing to be seen is your profile
paradise promise sexless loner,
creative polar wind through frontal lobe,
frontal lobe arranged like bouquet of strawberries
covered in nightfall foam,
sweet and pesky freedom
for this prefabricated little boy
lonely to the roof of the sky and the bed of the sea,
one layer of fabric covering the thought of love
against the cold, beating thing beating thin
while pairs of airships float above.


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