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Jingoism saved the wingnut (Concrete) by horus8

. A single area coated slowly with a warm orange peel cure grows sick smelling hair The man stares on through his curved lenses God works on his tan While sipping margaritas In a tourist controlled resort town Somewhere deep in Mexico The bacteria culture grows eyes rapidly As if potato farmers. the tree spirits giggle And hand me a fig I have paint on my face As my brush rests idle I can't seem to cap- ture the wind against that twig no leaves waiver, no winter this year. The sky be blue, be blue the sky. Never again be a cloud cry you no more, be wind, and sigh for these lies.... Tomorrow bec- omes covered. When last night turned into future's....weeve Adam has a pet snake. Eve grows fruit trees Lovers form one One heart cleaved....fabrics been dyed, now, on my loom I silently weave, my sleeve to my sweat soaked and soiled pillowcase, picture the <there> Secret naked ferocious fire angel <is> Think embrace <no> Why ask in liquid belly magic <heaven> Change self desire <fool> Explore the ghost dazzle <only> of sister night <the> Perhaps from eternity <silence> Question two <of>. Wear this long vast hand picked lie <matterless> stiff lust <space> Have free caramel <and> After wild perfuming <the> your soft star lip blush <lack> yesterday <of>Dance home <awarenes> let us drink life in an old coffee cup <and> Sacrafice the green velvet book of poetry <spoken. For the fever deep throb of blind decay <dreamers> I no longer pray What's the point? No one would hear these words but me anyhow you see ? only what they let you +.+.+

Caducus 18-Jan-03/2:01 AM
Very original horus, what I liked about this was the munificence of description especially in the opening. Do you write many concretes? . I have to say the line 'God works on his tan whilst sipping margaritas made me stop reading for a moment and imagine the lazy sod sitting by a poolside with mafia angels dicussing how to waste lucifer because 'he has no respect'. Also the soft star lip brush line was neat, One minor criticism was that it had to fucking end. If your gonna turn this into music you'll have to send me a copy-seriously i might whisper a few of these lines to my beau later in bed and say to her 'call me horus baby' your work is diverse and this is up there with the other one you spent quality time on about africa ***9 and three quarters***




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