Hygiene

Hygiene

A Poem by Soil Creep

Some time passes between these hollowed out thoughts, 
I chopped 
down,
   C u t-up, blinks and flashes into statements about the status quo.
Never mind the bald consequences of atavistic whims, 
  (phosphorescent heads sink metal spheres into milky constructions of will)
observe 
   the most dangerous game.

© 2013 Soil Creep


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Added on January 7, 2013
Last Updated on January 7, 2013
Tags: art poetry postmodern

Author

Soil Creep
Soil Creep

Maryville, MO



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