Words, ashamed, without resonance or rhyme...
Parade out of the top of my spinal column onto this screen.
Plain and absent, body is a word.
A pit.
Loud, soft, Carlie, Strong, a girl.
Queer Bart softly softly drunken. Stark bodies and I am far.
No one breathes me. I breathed two: My mom caught me partying and now I am alone.
Softly, the troubles know -- are here.
Cloward saw me sitting in a library, reading his theory of the poor.
Cloward saw me talking to you, listening for my Mom making me worse.
Devils soar into painful adoring lenses.
Freer and alive, where I am.
Dreary and drunk with possibility (perhaps life will bless me creating dry and sick drools).
Answer my mind: What is my mind, peacefully?
What bends to my will without breaking and suffering?
What hopes will you know? My mind is presently feeding your night with its sand.
Peace bothers me, don't you know me?
It is pain (whores...) why bother my mind quisling?
Quit it. Vegetarian rubble piles up around me and I drive place is here; taste tossing my mind
possibly not even drawing blades to make me blow.
Lala. Man assas.
Lower than face.
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