Marcos Oro - Jobsite

In the synapses of air
You rolled around in clumps
of mud. Scabrous, mugged.

Sleeping in the back of a junked car
speed yellow in bugged night oblivion

A fat frog jumped out of your loaf
The icy clouds and lack of blood-
Pulled up hoods and animal skins

The mortar scraped on the last few bricks
The fires lit in the last few eyes-

Marcos Oro

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