Saturday, November 01, 2014


The force of life sprung
hammers the unequipped,
hammers them the most,
as if something comical were happening,
trickles into their white-tipped red nerves
and finds a home there

light-sanded, superior to its own
infinity and lack of suffering
my solitude is an eruption of echoes
friends blown off by death respectability and politics
I fashioned a weapon from my discontents
the catalogue of a well-predicted existence

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