Find Of A Dilate Fist

Objects that sit there, and crackle,/they just flare up and sputter,/even as they dilate./Said to be soup ghosts you drink/ you’re rid of them in times of Solstice./ An accord with the Islands./Their forked tongues slither/over the last trickle/lapped from china bowls./I gamble my jackpot;/I’m aware of the severance/I’m soon to encounter./I possess keen eyesight/I line it up at gunpoint./Adept at spelling things out/I desire to gamble, freely,/I carry this compulsion/on the back of my victim.

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