Friday, December 2, 2011


Desiccating in the temple
Where we reap annealed flesh
the cyclical thoughts remain

underneath and within and somewhere
a song cannot be heard
where a bitter wind blows everything into perpetual memory  

horrifically beautiful virus of thought
dissolving into cheap honest theater
as waves crashing on the shores of the gross

water that can never be afforded
should not be shed here
give up nothing, and remember:

we are the nation of no flag
we have no demands
we will prevail.  

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