Sunday, 22 September 2013

Rolling Pigeons Towards Collapseing Turtled Gloves

The Arguement Soaks Through The Filter,
Through The Membrane...Through The Electric Channels,
It Drips Out Through The Holes Like Hamburger Through A Meat-Grinder,
Through And Through...
...
Through... And Through...
...
InTo The Hungry Ear Starveing For Daily ConFlict,
EveryBody Has An Ear Like That...
...
MayBe It Is Your Left... Perhaps... It Is Your Right...
...
It Devours Those Scratchy Static Runes As A Casino Table Would To Dice,
Hopeing For The Code Of Gods To Reveal Their Little Etched Order,
SomeTimes To Tumble From Cups...
...
InTo The HereSay... Palms Sweeping ACross Sweating Brows...
...
...
The Skins Of Gamblers Are Brought To The Wire... Still Wet...
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To Be Stretched And Pinned... Then Drummed For The RimShot
InTo Echoing Stillness,
Above The Green Felt And Perched ReServeations,
Then InTo The Clicking Of Teeth...
...
Or Through The Whistleing Of Others...
...
To The Rough... Then Tacked Smooth.

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