eggplants
like engorged tics
hanging on to your blood
pop them and you’ll see more of your blood than tic
hellish this vision that so shines purple
sliced on the BBQs of hell
then there is the virgin pith
vestal white until fried like unbelieving eyes
hellish hellish
bloody tears congealed as eggplants
now we just look on in interest
the only fear disinterest
that one should show interest
but really
the ovens just cook eggplants
where are the fields of rye
the bitter spirit of the furnaces’ distillation
past caring for the past is no future
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