we call it infection thus fever comes hot cold sweat in dream floating away on a cotton boat needles shiny at the end of the bridge approaching me ghosts left over from a mardi gras circa 1874 i only met in pictures shiny orbs rubber balls as the rotten peaches fall into the bell jar tar the road but let me in i want to feel the burning in my vein traverse the universe i don’t think i’m made of clay but i’ll let you think i believe
- Comment
- Reblog
-
Subscribe
Subscribed
Already have a WordPress.com account? Log in now.
words less spoken 
Iodine cream goes on full ⚫
stops that not caught 😎
LikeLiked by 1 person
And so at the end of the ctai now the coal mine floats and the spirits sit down for ever
LikeLike
To stand and deliver what just is
to the defence contractors and
weapons manufacturers who set
the coal mine on fire doing the biz.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Bam boom baby lay down a finny fore the natives come and all revelation blinds the greedy
LikeLiked by 1 person
The Conquistador never rings twice.
LikeLiked by 1 person
It falls on blown out ears
LikeLiked by 1 person