L I P S T I C K & O T H E R S E R V I T U D E S
C A N D I C E K E L S E Y I Pull my rickshaw faith and me into the sea troubled by feathery winds and as you lose your weight and grip take from me these eyes your tip. Kick off toward the moon's dock: Let me sink like Ophelia flowered by dagger-tooth junks playing about my smoky hair bubbling to the sound of a collective swallow. That will be my lullaby and I'll watch the great donor shore keep offering its marrow. II My faith like a rotting potato bruised and collapsed turns green as jade and almost as lovely if not for its wet-tumored skin. Farewell. For from the sea I'll rise a winged dragon shedding water like New Year's coins to swing out in harmony soaring toward my brothers the mountains who stand in renewal waiting behind the skyscrapers' wide-mouthed steel for my return through the holy gate mere rat.
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