PILLVIA SLATH

A wicked path
To whiskey a dream
And paranoia busses
You into the city
Of knifely fears
Blue circle redemptions
Mechanical flattery
Instead of the frozen pizza
Perhaps I should use my head
Instead
Flailing humanities
These trite words we poets write
Animals fighting over prepositions
Such false treatises
A gaff and a half
These fucked thoughts
As our lives play out
Actively insulting
The pure remaining songs
Of deadend youths.
-5 July 13-

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