Lots of noise tooken

Gun to tomorrow the monster of quiet doesn’t say.
Nor does he play with things inside of others
long lost, longer lost than criminals to pussy.
He instead stutters, he stutters,
can’t paint but traces others with what but his hands
locked together long lost in their interiors.
As well with his head. His head stretches
two rivers through steel and slavery,
and wets the foot of anyone alive or not yet
blind with glaucoma, coupling, and itself.


~ by Jeremy on December 27, 2009.

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