Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Your Father is the maggot with the yellow pants and my fish is tender but the lake is frozen. I’m shopping at the store in your womb, burning leather and bleaching my wife. My haircut is running from the teacher’s crisp. Our ears are releated by blood and as the world turns to mud and forever starts to end, my finger curls around your throat. Saliva pours from your lavender swingset and Rick’s knees have snapped!!