Thursday, 21 April 2011


My eyes burn, and I itch,
no small concern, but,
as long as my head,
is filled with thousands,
of luminescent explosions,
forced through the eye of a needle,
I can cope with the risk,
I can hope it isn't one.

My motions once frantic,
now measured, choice cuts,
100% high grade skunk,
burning like the aftermath,
I am the light in the oven,
showing you the food,
Showing you when to open up.

Everything is visceral,
I have not shut myself down,
I've grabbed hold of own destiny,
and I relish its manifestation.

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