Monday, April 14, 2014

npm: 04.14

(I'm a few days behind due to being out of town and then getting the usual head pain).


you don't want to see it
so of course
it's everywhere.

shot off at the mouth
even bullets
carry compacts
filled with mirror.

the trash smells like pennies.

floor a minefield of fallen attire,
to stop

prior self melted
your hunch of shirt with billowed neck,
demure cross of empty leg

every minute a bit of us gone--
cells dead
bad roof
peeled wind
rubbed raw
new leaf

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