The Powerdogs of Meta4
THE POWERDOGS OF META4
By force of circumstance
the white stone’s acrylic tip bites
the air’s high pink on chrome down
where the oval window changed
into the day for the monogram
of a night square’s wounded response
to the unanswering irrational shore of
her word order’s wild brassy easels
returning news of clanning wars and
firebands around the lizard’s throat
of further ants and kitchen pearls
that were daylight songs of not you.
Copyright 2008 by F. R. Preene
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