W H O L L Y T E X T S

 

sssssssssss

They are supposed to be dead in the winter, flies and relapsed
cavemen.....the woman waits outside for the delivery of carbon-based
coils, silver strands choking spider shit...ESCAPE OF THE JELLO BULLETS!
I rancor my buckles, those poets who think they are poets? Yes, my hair
is full of low-grade maggots/....
maggots
maggots and the utter shriek of Infinite
NOTHING/ roink!

February 12, 1997

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