In Uncategorized on 120728 at 2215

Some brooms have plastic
when yonder, other alternates
don’t linger in the landfill.
And when will this river
revive its other faltering
which weep when the dam gloms
its glorious seep and floods the land?
I am in an uneven territory,
very tense when whores are
slammed as demons, when
dicks and coffee become
Feminism is not an aphrodisiac,
and television is not practical.
Actually, I’m tired, and I have narcolepsy.
Speculate what spins the genes of stationary
tall stolid cedar trees.
Smell fire, pheremones,
and weep when the goddamn
pee floods the porta potty.
See these naked twinkling glitter ravers,
and ask if
the trick of coffee is a sedative,
to be a pony with stripes weaponized,
unlike the zoo zebra, whose ruse
and unnameable mane became
black and white so you
can’t treat
your appetite
with flippant wants,
with clicking the OK
upon the rippling

  1. hi it’s Terra i love this poem

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