Sunday, February 9, 2014


The souls of wild animals sweet and sour 
Through my eyes for air.
It's quietly pointless.
I yawn at the river.
I piss livers, palm down.

Thousands of tires legalize a thousand hours.
Either I fight or inhale ice.
A curvy amateur in a monk's robe
Matches my traps from her absence.
Hate hate hate hate.

The ancient ruins detail used water bottle lipstick.
The plants punt rubber bald heads.
The river pisses eyes for ceilings.
Mountains and forests come back into the body of their owner.
Life's greatest fool, my purifier.

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