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nine tango fuck
Come dance with me
Spinning coffers empty
Stray marches in.
Banging on a mettle stamp drum
Dressed in robes and a grey ton
Tail trailing in the caverns
There are people
And in the people
There’s a cavern of invidious thrum.

Facing a humdrum blossom wall
A gaping raw, navel nudicule.
The fount hearth spouts and rewinds
On a current of internal whine.
Moulding a paper hurst on the quartz
Turfed crib that came first
Goombah jounces and sways
For the plotted and vacant open decay.

Lost turning home returning lost home lost.

Well have you seen a reason there?
Well I want some reason to be here.
I’m asking the weeping fireflies
For a target or lullaby
And he’s chasing my shadow
The sterling bitch whore God.
He’s a tangled knot of sea of land of fog.
Goombah jounces sways
For the anguish is the substance that stains the vacant.

Lost turning home returning lost home lost.
 
 
 
© 2007 andrew plummer
 
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