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Showing posts from February, 2017

Where farmers fear

Emergent and cheap as a thing. There's a bowl in the hands of the man that's standing in back. There's emptiness in the halls of his house, both furtive and black. There's rust and there's ashes in the beds of the masses, piles of shit masquerade as their asses. Keep keeping them all by the witnessing tree trounced by the bucketfuls, a leitmotif. The thumb of my eye making blanketing snow, hissing all night, green as it goes. Inspired by angry, encouraged by dumb, fall asleep on the red and the white blue rug. Start warm as the fishes swimming here in the pisses of the other fishes fucking and spitting. In blindness they bathe, witness to nebelung. Go deep in the lake of naked as lambs to the season of reason, bunny the bunny or sham to the legion. There's stars under the table, they're watching it rain. There's liars in the tub they're learning to swim. I'll put my hands in the water, I'm ready for sin but agape might win. - where only farm…