Tuesday, March 01, 2005

Chanting

Do rains whisper, as those behind no power
placed up apparatus to rock out?
So go ACHE, drunk club. Live, love
as life's smooth winter urge do not shine.
When I think recalling a.m. TV. Breast puppies,
I mean they fingered franticly, meat lust
from say a language, my red incubate diamond
chant.

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