Sunday, January 04, 2009

THE END, OF BLOWJOBS & EASY-FUCKING, THE END

A spiderweb of blood.

A dog stands in the center of an arena rock concert
writhing in pain
after the first canon blast.

The rink's floor melts into wax
softer and softer
practically jelly now.

A deep fog rolls in
slivers of metal rain out from it.

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