Even when headlit
The new sun still
Sets proclub like
A blood-hacking haircut
Gut-threshed
In the guttersun and
Swell-packed
As the surprizefighting
Supercock stuck sunderwise
The she-you shoed aside
To find that
Polarized figure
So high
Standardized
In the underlying
Duct puddle.
Then proclub came up again
In the lighting
And everyone's night
Was brutalized.
1 comment:
humor, papped to a gainful peal, an odd head at the back of its coat,
no it's not just endless
suctions of the same thing, but
occasionally think that. what
happens is being asked
after and i can't just lie to them about it! we've got to do
something and nothing
heedless is worth the relish i've got.
a likely story,
a half-made-up grace to the belligerence and vice versa.
Post a Comment