|
Why I Am Not a Poetrist
Too many bodies
And anyway so why should I
Can you
Or, as the Just Assassin's cruel is it the glove aerating the lexicons
I dunno I just (hear the crippled
I just as would a before making his gift of
Oh longest dive of eyes glazed over with rush hours' CAN'T
She looked across (all the narcissus
Boxy fruit of O where are those San Francisco covering all wounds
song: all the women are acquarium hooded
then? the boxcutter What Extension Please!?
like the too-tinged
I mean "driven" like a Hollywood Into the catchment
|