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Traumgarten


The rattle-smash flowers
in the garden, I snuffle.
How they crackle
when the wind combs through.
They spark when plucked, and ooze
when sucked, their sour juices.
I have been sucking rattle-smash
since the moon bestirred.
My gullet throbs as the sparks
ricochet into my belly.
I have been sucking rattle-smash
since the owls, with their sickly eyes,
assumed their posts
in the moonlight-trees.
They love of the smell
of the liquid piquant.
On the limbs with delight
they judder.