28.8.10

BRIGHT PEACOCK ROBOT




A timbered call from a chrome
 face wept up at a new moon
bloated black across the sky
stars underpinned by screams
from an ancient staring with
pupils brighter than pinpoints
 calmly unwinding coil bindings

  


wrenching metal decompressed
both into shining razor fanfares
held wide and slow to the sun
bowed without elegance yet
intensely seizing everyone
to fall direct to their knees
in awe more than fear
of decapitation

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