Shadows stretching across the floorboard loins as the gales grow fat,
but no one is watching the plaster coughing up its lungs, vomiting
the “Pater Noster”, exhailing ghosts from The Ark of the Covenant
dancing like penitent saints, with the tongues of the dead, freed
from a leash, now chasing cars.
Rated for Everyone
Mad Dogs and Saints
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