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It’s Pluto in the garden again blue
as the village snow

It’s Pluto at sea and in this lament

Regiments without pause and
Regiments without reason
even without macho choir

The soul of my sabotage is a professor
of sacrifice, night lettered across the sky

dribbling theses from mother’s breasts
The absurd angels and so-so goats pass

lilacs, tulips, the television sisters
swooning in gowns of spangle and folly

their pussies plumed and upper crass
Tinsel of taxed attachments

Silt in the sewer between them

[Scrying Joyce Mansour's “Il pleut dans le coquillage bleu” / “It’s raining in the blue shell”]

3 thoughts on “PLUTO’S GARDEN

  1. Absolutely LOVE this, the silt and the pussies and there-but-not-there pomegranates

  2. upper crass is killer, as are the television sisters. we are they

  3. “night lettered across the sky” — yes, I see that too! so good

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