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A dirty green blanket In a black garbage bag. A pair of clean white socks, Wrapped up in a greasy rag. A hundred tiny catsup packets Hidden in your pocket. A bladeless ladies razor, a broken plastic bottle of salad dressing gone bad, spilling into the bottom of your bag. An aluminum tin of tuna. (I gave this to a wild cat.) and amongst the stains A bit of bright red And the idea: You are wounded, Or perhaps even dead An implication in still life A terrifying sight. Bag, where’s your Man? The pride and sorrow, blood, treasure, hunger, fear the back on which you’re donned? Who gives these contents meaning Now that your owner has gone? ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- Just a little something I wrote. Copper and I were talking earlier...To read this correctly, start at the bottom and work upwards. Spooky April 20th 19:54 That's beautiful, Copperman. copperman April 20th 19:53 I feel! Spooky April 20th 19:53 Joking? copperman April 20th 19:53 Poking, I'm ! ! Spooky April 20th 19:53 Uh, no thanks. I'm already in a cult. copperman April 20th 19:53 Join us more and all your own image! wob nattle! Spooky April 20th 19:53 Joseph the Joiner? Did you join a cult, Copper? copperman April 20th 19:53 With Joseph the joiner I cannot concern myself which of arhac langfae! Spooky April 20th 19:53 Who is Joseph Nye? copperman April 20th 19:52 Seem to trip out of here fighting for Joseph Nye, dean of mind peaces gather into the primal directives Post a comment in response: |
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