THE SCIENCES OF DEATH
They make bilge; trampolines
carried over the rainbow, the
atoms of mercy and death collide.
They make road cars wherein the
corpses may ride. Everything blue
is blue again. And then?
-
A doctor wears a garlic rope,
dementia carries his torch and the
local ladies laugh back, hoping they
won't catch what he's taking away.
-
I can't give you anything but shoves,
baby. The sciences of death have
beaten me to it.
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