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Tuesday, June 21, 2011


in a pair of green shades,
sat a rip van winkler
wondering if happy years
were something one
would find in its sleep...
or a muscle tension, hyperactive disorder
out of bounds, rust stained and carpet munched

it felt like three junes and two suns
when he woke up to the sound of
5 guns blasting holes
in the accused.

tied to a post,
forced to make with it
and mate with the conceptualized
of a dickless ape...

I think it was burgundy shades
the presentation was full of thoughts of escape.
lay lady lay,
lay across these big brass bergades.
stray alley cat lengths of strength
her mildness
spell bound ways of persuading
were less then hazing
more than a cascading wall of denial.
IN his life he struggled
in my life we mugged them
switch those around and have an answer.
we coughed that up.
they followed us up.
abrupt standard address tags that hold information vital
as sonar paths rumble
her eyes keep me star spangled and

imbibed with the ressurection
of a slaven dream,
the salutations commence
and burned are the tatters of a dress
burned are the ropes that tied wrists
burned are the hours we or he can sleep

"we'll look for more shooting glances
in the night sky."

i'll hear her whisper...


alors qu'elle se mourait

Nous portons cette couronne de droit

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