Sunday, May 2, 2010

HAPPY GUNNING

You're like a nervous habit
Habitaually being
A jerk
First degree
Fourth degree burns
Dirt on my knees
Sand in my eyes
I rub
The wrong move
Way wrong
Wounds worsen

It heals 
slow
Process of being drawn
Out, along, up
Instead of salve
You were saving
The deeper pains
Of pleasure known
For you drew
Your fill, full on
Fastidious, fascist, finagling

Deep lung pumping
Knuckles jabbing
God, you just have to dodge
Losing momentum
All I hear is that rumble
Merit-less, mindless, maundering
Two moving circle centers
One running in place
Flesh dancing behind white fences
Stay still
Don't you wanna make our fists dance?

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