Christable Anon

Christable Anon Poems

To The Critic

The world has washed
Its body in the gurgle down the stiff bodies
Interspersed in climate and cloud of the green bones
The world has chosen me


Now the paint drips, like nectar over tongue
He squats to sexualize the mad soil
Lying abreast….
They surround like ears go fishing for music

Nesting Period

How I think of the tissues
Shall never cease the summer to be stronger
How I pour over me mugs of observation
That’ll remain thick on my skin

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