Born, the fourth day of snow,
thinking on wrap constraints,
nails are raw, I guess, this clear
tank smells bad, no voice, a gagging
nipple bottle spun on bottle goods,
spit, regurgitate to remark, to
their wrinkled cheeks pulled, language
you have fallen abyssal, dark one'
your apples' smashed, finger odor in
my mouth, odious nicotine, gives me
gitters, my feet will grow, to kick chins,
large noisy one, you scream my name
endlessly. Endless foolery tarnishes
my gilt, go ride a subway, nowhere.
Who are you anyway, a poet, get real,
fella, whole apples are better, stray,
scat, cat.
Read we are all pure and perfect when we leave the womb, they're right experience tells me as I think on it, the little aspects we forget when we look at what's arisen, where some traveled to can stun us, every day I wonder why and realize it's the atmosphere around that's old and tarnished, tarnish spreads to new metals.
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