mimo
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Posts: 5
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Post by mimo on Feb 2, 2006 13:16:05 GMT -5
dropdead to fell the tree to fall asleep in dawnlight's moonlit moony's waking hour in the hearts of d**ned hells, the seventh circle, nineth gate prelude to prologue to the vast very end of things of nighthawks and mourning doves who fly like Icharus to the sun whos' wings fall like melting wax up moonbound heaven on earth dreaming of nettles and rose pettle soup; the thorns we discard the trash we heap the leaves we burn for grass in the summer and then it is fall again, to fall again down the rabbit hole into the beautiful black lagoon and in my heart there's a hole to be filled the size of montana like when you throw the first handful of dirt onto your father's grave and in my head it only goes six feet under, no more than two yardsticks, no less than a sthingy, and I think the dying wait to rejoice until there is no noise, just white the noise you hear in radio static then boom, the suns collide like twin earths wrapped in foil and crackle pop snap paper dolls to wake again, dead again, alive again, begging to be numb again and I just can't get the numb out of my heart so I let the Pices pierce it with paper sthingy and the dead rise from the wells and somewhere in washington a skull is kicked from underneath a log to rest by the stone it broke once and chipped in the daylight's moon just wishing and wanting and waiting to go numb
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