June 8, 2012, by Homme de Sept-Îles
a youzen dozin' poured fat like gold muscle flex under yukon mule skin the vat nods forward outside the tent beyond alley past shame the bandana pellet palver the one hand, crow nose shabble game brandied flame or studded cobalt thorns of diamonds the good hands sweat chalk clean beneath we hope the pail and pore illusion oh character, he ambles. we study poor what drink pale pours jounce? they all yell at their wives
All Montreal Mystique poems are now on the easy-to-navigate microblog Mots Mystique. See if you like the format.