here is

Here is a place where slugs and snails never speak.
An infant cannibal (no, I don’t sleep well, she says)
remains in a baby carriage on scaffolding
after her mother has jumped down and walked into a bakery
where she is trying to sing but her voice
is still buried very close to the center of the Sun.
Here is a place where spiders never move,
burning churches and eyes and bleeding noses of old,
too many days and nights created for ungrateful fish and fowl.
Children sleep on the floor embracing giant orange boots,
the Ancient of Days paints green sausages on the walls one over another.
Here is a place where you can smell nuthouses for nonexistent reptiles.

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