_Fear & Swans Itch_ [ 18 ] by John Lowther


Fully mountable swans of life-sized anxiety

Claw along the access routes. Of course must

But no don't want to. Things left on the radiator

In the season it is off. Distant cars are nearly

Silence. Pits, scars, dead shields over redder

Flesh. Piss take. My filth and final offer. Hop

Skip and a jump from shedding the connected

Documents. Kind enough to let me stretch

Like a baby arm of itch and absolutist

Bon mots. Chop chop. Thesis after thesis

& wiggling margin. But let me look at my notes.

Somewhere a video streams of a model

Weeping at the sarcasm of a judge before

She takes up arms to negate the street.

The hum pierces from the machine of buttons

Push forward like a swan on balm.

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