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Friday, March 8, 2013


I wake up to flashes
Wonders playing
Movement, impeccable movement
Greatness, Rand’s poetry

But I wake up

The idle machine, my body
But chants, she is sore
Of worst kind of dull pain
Of unuse

Neck stretched out
Stomach, nipples
Tight face

Head of an actor

On a clothesline
Dripping pink
White and black

Oh, the greatness
That greatness
Give it to me, it’s mine

Envy fowl
I’d become much more
But nobody slaughtered me
For flesh

Still here
To let