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Lick the Wound

My hot leg shakes

***** dog mud whiskers.

Moist cardboard box

houses all my barks.

 

The darkness of night

is much too dark;

disease, fleas and despair

like lonely rain under

street light with broken lamp.

Growling demons prowl

with death-eaten distorted

leprosy masks, and a red eye

to ****

 

I consumed my street.

In the gutter

stars got caught in my throat.

My fur, like a prostitute’s ****

stinks of strong *****

I lay down and I won’t

get up to run,

or ****

or smoke.

 

Out here the dumpster

claims the soulless.

Torn apart unnaturally-

pierce, shred, peace.

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j
Written by
jorge-antonio-lopez
American
Published
Jul 6, 2010
Lines·Words
26·100
Permission

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