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Racquel Davis Dec 2020
I fatten the cow
And drink her milk
To wash down
Her baby's flesh
And she loves me even now
As I squeeze her *******
Her milk allows
It feels like silk
Because I fattened the cow
To drink her milk
On row DH30A102
Buddha is seated,
Underneath him
in dust covered boxes
a dozen more
radiate enlightenment,
waiting to be shipped out and sold
for 29.99 at your local store.

'Surely the fatman
will give our house
a unique Zen feel to it.'
2015, May
Swells Sep 2014
I've outgrown the hibernaculum I was sewn into
at birth--the beast cannot be tamed
by suppressing the lungs and drowning them in liquors
darker than the sludge inside our bellies.  And full
those bellies have grown; pregnant by the
Bourgeois hands that are fat from a materialistic complex
as though the bounty hung before them is silk
and succulent on the tongue (as they are cut from the mouths).
These minds are like rot in the veins,
and they permeate,
and they anchor,
and they sink into our bones only to remind me
that there is always an ocean to
swallow down
if the land is too dry.
Tegan Apr 2014
Should be a profanity
Consigned to myth
We are taught to aspire
To live a life
That doesn't exist.
Glossy paper
And saturated colour
Feeds us a fiction
Force asphyxiation
Because you will live average
And will not become
The thing of dreams
Staring out of magazines.

— The End —