Yeast in estrus

Theft, it’s theft, fine theft;
larcenous he is over the dead and their bereft.
In one ear flutters and culls
the other ear long cut from his darkened skull.
Who bit, who bit what flutters and flits
over and under the lobe feeding it?
The masters smoked their robes
to become naked claustrophobes, all too alone
in the yearning pastures of heartache and home.

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~ by Jeremy on June 8, 2009.

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