Sunday, September 19, 2010

45*21

I'm as black as your beard
and my winds are hard and cruel
Please only feed me gruel
my paradise is one of worried torture
Leave me to my cold cage
or mounted tensions will pile up
You might catch me in some closed circuit
where an image gets lost in gray smolder
These are only trains we can't ride
into night lands behind cabinets
Being so filled with hormones
and realizing your disease is time-able
The timetable is reversible
and flowers grow from a child's head
Then you might be dead
or sucking some other kind of perfume
From animal's hide
to religious drive
You wake from cold sweat dream
with the hearts of divers in your sleeve
& they call you Katy Cruel

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