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Gauguin's Nave, Nave Moe
Somethings form photographs bitter
of limes bit by the teeth
among the ranges of the lips

the sweet plants growing
so delicately suddenly turned to Dust
white of the Dust's remains the Dust
& th'long face

drops of concoctions O
the acids attacking
the innocence puckered stomach-
lining & yet right away

Somethings so sweet
take up the images Snows cotton-candy & soft
sans snows, snows & snows

the back's straightened &
a man dances like some silvery set of feathers
flies to the ceiling
& banging his brains: collapses

making sorrowful sounds to the ground
of Somethings returning to the Dust
the distant rains fallen
& a flood of tears wash from his

destiny thrown into shreds of Somethings
Dust the too sharp images
into the dull mists after rain

sequel to sequel come all men
chewing golden tobacco Peace
in their burning green breeches to play golf

Somethings the Dust turns bitter amongst
the sweet plants blowing a haze
over Somethings their mental craze

Somethings the art of the Worlds
Dust settles where the people important
ham it up on television
for the sake of their wives
for their kids

they tour the old dusty museums
& careful not to touch anything
ancient enough to possibly be
connected with The Dust/the dust

possibly transmit the Dust
the Dust ancient as dust
art turns to dust

to Dust life itself turning & turning
must eventually turn to the Dust
Somethings life turns into
360ø the Dust life
turns to art
art turns
to Dust