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Mew

as soon as these blue speckled

socks go, that's it. A new bright black death.A solemn weir on a stark horizon.Give me a reason to wear color. My hueless affidavit

runs me into the Earth, where I sprout up

a pallid keb- brain orf'd, you could drag my etiolated ebon

body through the ovine fold or take me to the theater. When I was just a minor teg, I sheared my mim kip, I fuckinggave it to you outright. In this little

cote my wan mien nigrifying; my calamitous black, quaffed full of congou in demitasse, of souchong & saucers. My atrous wethered body albicantly degenerating in the atrous sun. I'm crusting over with wanness and you, you're fortifying in the cwm where I used to yaff and stray. Your ovivorous hunger,something I never knew, when first you came for my jecoral flesh, just another bot digging through my soft toison. Like Dall's Prometheus being sheared from the flock-you cut me away. In this drab and achromic world, you put the wanness in my flesh, the gid in my heart. Still.

Just these blue socks are left.

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Written by
martin-narrod
38 / M / American
Published
Apr 26, 2014
Lines·Words
7·187
Notes

Written Sitting against an Oak tree outside of a family friend's farm in Fond du Lac, Wisconsin

Tags
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