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larry-mcdonoughPoems
I swear the machine is the culprit It explains the sore bones and sleepless nights from the moment your fist meets the black button before the ink of time has dried it grips you in caste iron clamps inserts its ******* tube into your spine and drains your humanity gorging on it like famished swine Through an ocean of searing hot oil and pummeled flour it laughs at you a sordid laugh stinking of raw meat amplified by static voices over an intercom each beep penetrating with the force of a power drill please hold for a moment I've seemed to have spilled my brain onto this greasy floor let me scoop it onto some rice for you there, an original chop.
0
Oct 9, 2011
Oct 9, 2011 at 4:02 PM UTC
The Original Chop
I swear the machine is the culprit It explains the sore bones and sleepless nights from the moment your fist meets the black button before the ink of time has dried it grips you in caste iron clamps inserts its ******* tube into your spine and drains your humanity gorging on it like famished swine Through an ocean of searing hot oil and pummeled flour it laughs at you a sordid laugh stinking of raw meat amplified by static voices over an intercom each beep penetrating with the force of a power drill please hold for a moment I've seemed to have spilled my brain onto this greasy floor let me scoop it onto some rice for you there, an original chop.
larry-mcdonough
Written by
larry-mcdonough
American
Oct 9, 2011
Oct 9, 2011 at 4:02 PM UTC
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