Forty Percent OffA Poem by Soil Creep
Miscreant demonoids flap colors fragrantly
in shades of androgynous shame. When sundry and solipsistic, mellifluous in tones of ineptitude, he's gaining streams of cherry blossoms tactfully sampling steams of youth. It's a bauble, an all-consuming orgy of lights capturing children in the cold night. © 2013 Soil Creep |
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