Giving violent birth to conversation

An animal at the watering hole
is what I am but of people, in the cold
smoking our lungs out for the campfire.
Our bible burns down, is hardy, is a head
we taste passing round it like caramel,
and the whispers clean our ears.
Say oh honey, dry them tears, you got years left
to sleep under, sleeping under pauses
we sell plenty of. Those seconds or firsts
could fill up the earth like thirst cannot,
can talk giving violent birth.

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~ by Jeremy on January 14, 2011.

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