They steal the scent of corpses to blaspheme Earth. Sticky with syrupy salvation, come Smudged across the forehead wreathed in chrysanthemum Singing songs like sulphur deposits gone animate against birth Spatchcocked by starlit taunt… Now only neon salts the wounds. Here's this fallacy of limestone's bleat, Animalia's long-lost control of meat. Bathed in vehicular manslaughter, you impugn Acrostic death dance, flaunt Distillate sugary cornucopia of cremation. On the hunt for dead gods, I devour icons in a row. I, an Eastern wind disguising the scalped with silken bow, Call home a cesspool of nocturnal sensation. World makes me kill doves, Another fertilizer gone silent with all its loves.
LEE LEVINSON has work in Fanzine, Selffuck, Ligeia, Expat, Collidescope and a plethora of other magazines and can be seen @schlock_jaw.