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Sunday
Aug102008

Some Libretto Sketch, You Hairless

Too scared of all your possible intimacies
The bumps on your tongue frighten
The lawn mower burns a shock of yellow
I know it is scanning the house
It has found the gone off food
The unpaid bills
The crouch away from the doorbell
Its constant ringing
Death has entered
My flaccid crotch
You fundamental INCONVIENIENCE
You have no head,
All of you,
Your necks whimper
Can I take your hair?
I will use it in a poem

Does the investment of you into these words excuse all my possible actions, all the sickness that I indulge in, and all the ameliorated harmonicas - falling like corpses that are dead for a dozen weeks and have been a dozen weeks before that,

One in ten.
Good Joke


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