iam alone with my electricity (4)

a gaggle of wild dogs bark the swirling horizon, surprising even our gouge at the symphony's throat: lunar tresses boil amidst all the apathetic faces my chosen prophet wears to the golden ball: dada horses with only the law to guide them into the astonished triune of decay, any source of sound not writhing its recognition of genuine otherness: the circular voice indulges me with my green torrent of feet already dead drunk, but pure on other worlds


Ruela said...

inspiration to me.

Robert said...

you are so kind, Ruela



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