Friday, December 16, 2011

Deep within the jungle of my semi-spherical

rubber electricity-sweating grin prison,

songs deciphered by amputated lips trained by

sticks, stones, and dying relatives.

The miserable frost encourages mutant feather-holders

to grasp the claws of one another,

oblivious to the plastic suffocating their own precious

paintings of themselves.

Hallucinations.

Collapsing balloon-lungs.

Conforming fishermen in heat.

Starving.

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