white indignance
Falsehooded evil
one true powerballad.
excuse me, your lips smell like money.
I can dream with eyes narrowly open
search wide wilderness see only green.
little squatter hopes for sunlight
or the flame of an angry Bic
Killed is the past
birth while we watched, watched by them, when we die.
and life flicks within a trickyquick.
portobello mushrooms smell like hotdogs in the sun.
WHAT.
im not lying.
have you ever kissed a hot dog on the lips?
boy he mustve been attractive.
im so very tired. i want to grow.
no sunlight. left.
death is never right.
variant wonderful song
orange firecracker sunlight! flip through thin wisps of dawn!
part the generous sky suffocating blue light!
part the indifferent grey inanimate pictures!
with your legs dangling so long
it touches my throat
here on the ground.
heel to forehead hungers for more lightposted crayola dreams
simmering towards dawn in a topless V8
childhood high hidden under the sheets half grade schools passing
dreaming of growth.
but im tired.
but i want to grow more.
tonight.
.
.
.
.
...
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