deepundergroundpoetry.com
The faster I run, the less further I get
spring has grown
fangs and is going
for the throat of man
and i want to go home
and sleep for a year
our lives are finger
food for God
and I haven't washed
my hair in three days
thoughts are a cul
de sac
feeling a morgue
the human spirit
goes down like
cheap whiskey
and burns
out of our
minds
out of time
out goes the
lights
and the dark sits
in the corner licking
it's lips,
a hungry
cat
.
04/05/11:08am/est
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