Bóín Dé | Poetry

Timothy Donnelly

  Little cow of god, the wattage of your red reverberates the earth, and spots of onyx nestle on its lacquer like fixed stars. Bravissima! You are red’s least loud-mouthed ambassador, paradise’s miniscule half-apple mobilized by a half-dozen legs, and under the split-open dome of you: gold-leaf wings, folded over esoterically, like dress patterns, whose thinness whispers to the near- devotional care called for to pin them out properly. Meanwhile,...

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