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War bots modeled after x-box controls, from the high to the low, maintaining. Apocalypse Now, Captain please, a pale face knotted, one last swig of Jim Bean. Revolution is live, no cutting these scenes, everybody plays soldier, till the bullets start to scream. And Death hums by, shrieking ancient lullabies, two blinks of an eye, while Cerberus snarls, “Don’t you know the smell of warm gunpowder perfume?” If not, son, You’ll know it all too soon.” Hold your breath as it floats up your nose. No slipping here - By nightfall, this valley’s grove will be flooded with other throes. Excuse the rows of strangely contorted bodies that lie, resting, and the bloated brown-streaked limbs, homeless, getting more lost amidst the bellowing desert sand. Enjoy the silence of the boom, the momentary reprieve from green noise, ******* up the sinking cries, an empty vacuum. Watch for the ambushers, too – waiting by the roadside; As familiar grins with tattered teeth flicker fake smiles, and land mines sparkle under feet, fireworks on the fourth of July.
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Aug 31, 2011
Aug 31, 2011 at 1:35 AM UTC
Untitled (Title Suggestions Welcome)
War bots modeled after x-box controls, from the high to the low, maintaining. Apocalypse Now, Captain please, a pale face knotted, one last swig of Jim Bean. Revolution is live, no cutting these scenes, everybody plays soldier, till the bullets start to scream. And Death hums by, shrieking ancient lullabies, two blinks of an eye, while Cerberus snarls, “Don’t you know the smell of warm gunpowder perfume?” If not, son, You’ll know it all too soon.” Hold your breath as it floats up your nose. No slipping here - By nightfall, this valley’s grove will be flooded with other throes. Excuse the rows of strangely contorted bodies that lie, resting, and the bloated brown-streaked limbs, homeless, getting more lost amidst the bellowing desert sand. Enjoy the silence of the boom, the momentary reprieve from green noise, ******* up the sinking cries, an empty vacuum. Watch for the ambushers, too – waiting by the roadside; As familiar grins with tattered teeth flicker fake smiles, and land mines sparkle under feet, fireworks on the fourth of July.
ted-boughter-dornfeld
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Aug 31, 2011
Aug 31, 2011 at 1:35 AM UTC
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