Saturday, August 11, 2007

Nothing Doing

Featherstrewn road's slipshod cobblestone-needs
Gracelessly chosen: sky-high, plummeting

Granted pluralists' pose slywise indemnity,
Fuck the trodden-upon: boot-stomp mercilessly

Not a one of our curses can even encompass
The malevolent means to their ill-gotten gains;
Long-sheathed but still sharp, world-worn talons, aquiver
Recall once, when they thrived, more alive than today

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