Interior of forty-two with alliteration .
Under the pylorus
a trough where the pigs rooting
- without locust, hold up? -
slide.
Sewage latrine
that they draw near to drain.
Floats semiconscious
(and sometimes drown)
poised between bile and bubbles
obese as a dancer.
I calculations.
In a corner of anger and slips down to roost.
And my dumb creditors who ask me if discount.
How can I give credit to the consumer
if consumption
a well worn already?
will serve
my precious guilt
and only those.
hanging until the very end grunt to the teeth.
I find that the rain will be Friday already.
Linda and I will be Sana.
Calva and I'll be naked.
And my beautiful eyes
(with eyes, still all
)
breasts are standing
by petting.
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