Monday, April 22, 2013


A turtle carries its home in a backpack, an island in a moment, a sudden rush of adrenaline
seratonin pump shotgun, expressing self-led digest, yes,
a silty bottom for the rest of the lake to surface, 
porcelain people from old oil paintings are crusted with the glitter of modern fashioned metal furniture, 
ha! what an easy trick of words, playing time with cut fingernails and plastic dishes, 
each and every creature is propelled by this god person, just a prop 
empty entities are shells for loathing, lugging, and reloading, click click-mice drop bomb rhymes like obama kills children, drugs kill time while protestas keep chilling, check mate the masters and them bodies still be burning, oh! but then a revolutionary change of hands! a new shiny leash for my black leather jack off, fresh politricians at the death angel doctors office, picking flowers in the garden outside while pubes and heads get shaved, no lice in the camps now kids, no flowers on the graves, just stones where we layed tracks over trains, ancient remnants of what couldnt be saved by religeon, 
they ask, god please keep us in heaven, 
because we live life in this prison. 

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