29 January 2014


tomato soup dripping from my mustache
onto my corduroys
i still feel coffee in my blood
hear the outside
i sled down snowy rivers on a hill
she returns mouth
say i saw a man
say say enough to sound like speaking
cat w/ no front claws paws on my leg
read into bones no the vibration heals
its ear on the tracks
listen to the killing machine thunder
you can count distance
between light
the strike
and deth of us

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