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rain dogs lightn bolts wet shirt at forty five pants soak holes float big like sky the red sign black tea death sticks all sunk I hate it dry
0
Apr 29, 2015
Apr 29, 2015 at 4:11 PM UTC
gone
If there ever was a golden age The smile on the cherubim’s grill, Wistfully look into her eyes, Devoted to her algorithms--- Like Christine there are no eyes, Desoto algorithms---if there Ever was a golden age She’s sleeping in, Evolutionarily destroyed by fire--- Mysteriously her eyes go blank, Blank for all eternity, If there ever was an algorithm For the golden age---she was one--- For a quarter of eternity or an hour Show her the pile of stones The men will use Saints go under the bridge While over the bridge go the lions--- Her bones thick and mammalian If there ever was a golden age of stripping, She was there, her ideas and sciences dawning on troglodyte mankind---
0
Dec 21, 2017
Dec 21, 2017 at 10:20 PM UTC
The Golden Age of Stripping I