Wednesday, May 27, 2009


et cette merde de terre,

cane. ma.
Not yet, so for now, i protest.
Of me here a vintage portrait of
a capture.
Ancestor, my culture has you
to thank wld be understated thus

portray me as you will,
a moment such as soon to fade
into the dust, at your choice of word.
my, your misunderstood enemy, i am not that.
which lies you have told to keep trou' taunt on [-]ip.
call me me more by that number, of that coven who holds
you baby maker. so tight i feel neither spine nor tongue enough
to hold steady, rock side to side instead; mesmerized by the sound
of your in the very near future demise, suppress recording. not that
you shall have a need or want to remedy, your sins to confront.
most are comfortable drowning in the warm bath of their own dirt.
until they feel the bitter gilt of the cold. in need of a winter. ice clears the air.
vastu vaidlema

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