Thursday, January 7, 2010

Born a Virus

I love you.
I love you.

Shroud of Tourin'

I love you.

The world so old and soft
like cheese in a sock
like a rock upon which
a roc goes


I love you.
I love you.

Break my shell and drain
my fluid, suck me dry
and install me
in any museum
as leisure.

If you friend is a scientist,
I could make little snacks,
and we could have some pleasant
conversation, except that

I have an enormous
pair of brass knuckles
on the wall that
are part
of a blood altar

to the

clothiers of hell.

No comments:

Post a Comment

Irrony Observes The Earthing.