We have already died, mom, still at the moment of death as Nansen at the wheel house of Fram, love stayed with us till our last breath. Who is that guy on an old photo with a guitar, standing behind his boozing baby who smiling like a movie star, her figure appears from the solar mud, not too far is her trashed one-armed stud, and here’s her husband who came back blind after the war and my grandmother treats them, but they are not getting better they suffer and tetter. There’s us, like a pig in clover, there’s us vets for which will all be over soon we will march on the Moon, and inside our bones is the mere gene of homozygous fear, fear, fear. We have already died, mom, the flame devoured the whole group standing tight, but dead lips do not know shame, only the light, along the sky I move from the heavenly chow hall with the heavenly guard, like a pig in clover and the dog-headed martyr Christopher jabs my hand hard
Posted on: Sat, 25 Jan 2014 08:05:54 +0000
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