Friday, 4 March 2011

Snake skin peels off like a plaster,
Lying here fresh from disaster,
Cantankerous rancid and broken,
God damn it all lightning and smoking

But for all of this I have nothing,
On a neck on a spit spat up with the briny nothing
just some froth that washed up,
dead on arrival, punished past reprisal and that is the fucking crux of it
there's nothing, and nothing and that is it.

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