A fat poet reads,
Playing with the hair in his belly button.
The subject is the rain.
Who among us would follow him down that road?
Think of the mud and
Humiliation.
Think of the agreement in his smile to which none of us could ever be faithful,
Drying off.
It copied an older form--one to which we do adhere, actually.
And these rainy plums are black and sugary.
Name That Trauma:: K Cozy on a Angry Animal Record Cover
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Hello! I'm wondering if any out there of a certain age can help out. This
is probably going to be pretty dang obscure. I have a vivid memory of
seeing, i...
2 weeks ago