had like a posse in wet rain
weakened by boxes of ammunition
sending searing cords down my leg
silence breaks filled with stoic guitar,
trapped and eating the cancerous black
waiting complaining debating
Uncountable advices thrown
through a womb of mudd,
forgive no one, anytime soon,
cutting hands on the nylon shredds,
and screaming hymens,
left the placenta floating
in a see of blood,
and a corded noose descends to take the life
of unwary illusion.

06/04/2002

Posted on 06/04/2002
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