no gods no masters a machine named dennis (Remove filter)
doctorate (3/14/15)
knees shaking,
wet pieces of manilla paper
guts quaking
use the scalpel and the scraper.
honed flesh,
separate piles
flay the waste of our race
measured in miles.
even me; especially me
worth so much less as pounds of flesh
storyless, shapeless leather
put out to pasture in famine weather.
molting, shucking, jumping free
each reduction, reduced
further from the itchy wet skins ...
Saturday 14th March 2015 12:50 pm
Recent Comments
TobaniNataiella on Oh Happy Christmas Time
1 hour ago
Red Brick Keshner on “Play It Again, Sam”
2 hours ago
Rick Varden on Fantasy Football
6 hours ago
raypool on All that Glitters
7 hours ago
Marla Joy on Who Are You ?
7 hours ago
Marla Joy on Oh Happy Christmas Time
7 hours ago
Graham Sherwood on All that Glitters
8 hours ago
Greg Freeman on Reporters
8 hours ago
John Coopey on IT AIN'T ME, BABE
9 hours ago
Steve White on Build a Better Mousetrap
9 hours ago