

liberation songnow that youre dead i will wake up birds will sing again ill be there too perched up high my breast filled aplenty crying over the others belting my chorus removing my belt letting my gut flowliberation song
flap in the winds below and i'll join you there where we both rise
we rise from our separate graves


basement apartmentmy basement apartment i get home from work i turn the lights on take off all my clothes except my socksbasement apartment
i turn on miles davis and my computer i scratch my dry scalp and play with my hair for a long time before i sit down to typing i look at everything around me
remembering i've already written a poem like that then i look at my hands they feel greasy, tainted either from playing with my hair
or the streetcar
i feel tired worn, like an old shoe and i think, well thats a start.
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without the salmon of a doubt.
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~ Stefana
these fucking walls must be talking cause man I can hear 'em
~VintageMemories
--
Elchicotriste is a mass-media hallucination
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without the salmon of a doubt.
--
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