Down in the bottoms
someone’s playing a cello.
You can just hear its
echo massaging the
walls of
pandemonium.
Down in the bottoms
my toes curl like talons in
the gray dandruff of ash
shaken from the
wings of
shocked Angels.
Down in the bottoms
mannequins melt into
bubbling blobs,
shredded cobwebby souls
blowing
from singed fingers of trees.
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