September 24, 2011, 10:11 am
Filed under: fancy feats, fine whines

not a shard of avant-garde

to splash across these pages

facing each other in eternal strife.

straining away from the join.

and the stitching is too tight.

and these ink tears wrinkle

the illusion of purity.

and the page provides lies

so comfortable i beg

to slip in again,

and again, just to win

back the omnipotence

of ignorance


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