Monday, December 28, 2009


I reorder anal sex in the middle of an oil platform.
I'll status soon a cigarette's unit of time.
Cardholders rot like mountains of frozen yogurt and
The next night confirm more time
For contacts and consolatory calendars to 
Preview as full slide-out
Legs climbing the walls of an airplane on fire.
Basically, I have a nosebleed that stops my eyes
From marking their return trail.

Bed of sweet pain jumpstarts my new anal angel.
With the flag that covers our son's coffin
We preorder a favorite wine
And disappear into julienned kneejerks.
When it's showtime some soldiers are still going to call
Her a bitch no matter if she snowshoes over 
An oil platform in the middle of the Gulf of Mexico
Or wonders what it's like to rosebud then fuzz away
Toward the mountain winter right next to mine.

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