Dream In Which

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Dream In Which
 
Corso's bones are fine‑tuned flutes
whose music's shaking birds from Fascist branches.
 
Below a cat paws through the snow,
a bloody parakeet squawks in his teeth.
Blue eyed women stand and weep,
mascara clots chunk to the snow.
 
Come spring the rivers run black
with molten snow along the dire of Elm Street.
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