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Sep 2013
From your old calloused hand
To the last living strand
Of hair that sprouts feebly
Like black sunbaked seaweed

With earlobes enourmous
And eyeballs a-milky
These wrinkles put dimples
all over your flesh crawling

in mongst the shadows
Of large concrete buildings
And root in the gutter
For edible matter which is

Torn in your hands by
Pain-quaking fingers
And prodded and poked
Into toothless dark places

Where bleeding black gums
Weary of smiling
pound out the mixture
Into acid bile.

I pity the monster
That crawls from your lips
When your life is no longer
And your tongue is for eating

I pity the blackbird
To peck out your eyes
That eyelids unmoving
Cant shield from the dangers
Written by
Johnny Zhivago
955
   Dhirana
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