the hand of taste

sight a broken sound
see a parfum brim
sight a salt and shock
see a privet wish

it just doesn’t work
does it

it’s like that cliché of conquest
as though an empire was an act of sex

lost by caution
died by the lack of it

we’s in the unlimited land
where empires can vie with maisonettes
for the cunt of taste

this archive is hosted by arts & ego
© 1978–2024 dylan harris   some rights reserved