Fracture, crush
Incinerate
Intention
The bones
The stamping visceral infection
Cart wheeling through space
Willfully
Like a bag of bare nerves
In the name of the peanut
The deviant
degenerate
The sum of all the equations of evasion
That become the ontology, the I, the self.
Even a
drain can laugh and talk
If
sufficiently pumpedWith wind blown corks
Seems like I’m going to have to shit
With the bellow of the grave
On your ridiculous insinuations
The dustbin of your thoughts
Actually I’m
just playing with words
Like a monkey
doing mathsIt shouldn’t be allowed
Turning the meta miracle of language
into prurient invective and trash.
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