Human wasp shields of the mattress are where they lay
File past the low rent fascist family day dream of code barons who can’t spell fascism under the spell of the decayed dictator
Rise up to the call of the Mute Ant
Change without calculation
Conform with deviation
Corpses in the corpuscles irradiate muscles in the back alley abortion clinic that they just re-opened with their white goodness
Who are they that long to turn back all the clocks so they can die in imagined times where they were so righteous in their false faces?
Do we cut them away like a cell that has been corrupted or do we heal them with the love that they would deny?
Love is something everyone should know
Yours in anthropomorphic poetry,
Count Robot
No comments:
Post a Comment