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Poems..







Grannie's Sunday thoughts are stroking flourishing cakes:
her ladle contributes to creams solidification:
gilded with ducat dumplings.
Biscuits gets drunk with liqueurs: and:
collapsed puff roofs rises in spirals in poppy strudels: 
where history is unwinding.
In the morning: only the immediate crust: 
only slick flattery of the butter:
deals with lentils: on cymbals from porridge -
before  pumpkin flowers planetized: she must sift:
by another spring sieved: a really burdensome aroundcherrying.

A white rhombus came out on the sidewalk and: compatible
with nursery sunshine: the redeemer crucified in hopscotch -
for us own: the good will go to the reformatory.
Ghosts breathe on the attic:
traps are seductive on the shelves and under the cupboards -
irises from peacock tails are squinting into the duvets:
where peacock's gaze pro forma: in the morning: 
will shake pillows and ventilate shit: this fly's idol.
Spider on hair: mulberry for bows:
stone pexeso: and: balloon heaven - leather radio in trance:
wild hops: old bricks: and: brand black currants
- there are two castles and a cake in the boxing bag.
Dry trees are rustling with empty candies: when I let go kites: 
wrapped with heavy barking:
through unavoidable rails:
and tunnel in the fire box with sand:
I leave somewhere at the back - this my mammonism. 
                                         
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