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Decomposure
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Hour 4
they are drowsily incessant, this braided bedsheet ring of torn fabric: a cone of protection/berlin wall sprouting in the smile lines of cracked earth, stepping pallidwatery slow back from my corneas. offhanded venom extracted through a peeling brown christmas swordfight with lensed end, burning canadian tire money ants with underwater eye cups and boxed ivy boots like blood's the disease, never the sequined curtain upholstered mouth father figure (polluted oasis) rolling broken crackers downstream into the bowl readonly playlist with indignant bearshark taxpayer numbers acrid smoke hammered to passing grey light and coffee chain windows that scorch the tinted throats of passengers; spitting in wounds and flowing silver lobes faceless with sudden suburban ferocity.
i've never been afraid outside, but they congregate with clubs under support beams neighbouring film grain clouds drawn in grids; a single shallow spotless plate handful of metal cubes for an ordered chaos i stir like juice crystals (drink powdered gold) that crests to rest in preparation to shave fractals disturbed by bent space, compiled picture-in-picture as our tball exhibition to shade the compiled clarity amassing on the frozen lake. i find clarity in vacant ceilings, crouched in turrets instead of vased wide over countertops, throwing arms
these are days through penguin scars, feedback feet, amplified ink as soft taunting from a toppled eight's dugout these are parcels sorted as secondthursday false starts, bookends, a sled in a field pillowed to survey the sky, omission slides with dandruff, marble air storage and the following surrender: (line, incremented fourdigit date) become a rain seether running newborns through streets and dyed celery all my friends are death sticks; so there won't be a block party 更多更详尽歌词 在 ※ Mojim.com 魔镜歌词网 because in the zeroes we don't share tables or see the bones
i wish i were shivering on idaho asphalt, ejecting unfilled red circles and indents if not for silk webs and tapped knees...
but i return to that suspension with strained internal sinew in denton's disabled hand blind at seatac, twisted around metal arms and to the divine fibreoptics (from frozen hands' unconscious fleece, our crude flooded rainbows and sunrisen rust and charstreaked hall to a dot's dose of pointillism)
so i've finally signed my green construction paper cutout in the shoebox's heel because i'm camped in the loading dock, and in two years i could be pushing pulse to selected dime balloon sweatshop shoes like steve martin backstroking in the sewer he once lampooned. pause in the faded corner of the room to lose what you were fighting while caret to is typed below but not yet sent. congruent, and yet my hand doesn't disperse under the flickering overturned pale golden bowl dimly revealing an unrelenting opus frameless and fractalic. this stick figure carpet (orange or otherwise) is lifeless as the vacuumed burnt grass description it was photocopied from i can't tape this window, paused, next to prices and remade ink beds - it passed under the doorframe for only an instant before fading to exit from entry, like life. there's no room to breathe.
i bit down. lifting your shirt to the train doesn't stop the railroad slow down. God waits in the absence, i hope that i'm a failure
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