Meat in black underwear,
Kitchen tile floor scaffolding,
A thousand grieving mothers fall out his eyes.
The mourners line the streets,
In the distance, you can hear the trash bag waltz
As the parade for the burial begins.
It’s like a postcard from an old girlfriend
she sent when she wasn’t returning home,
A worthless museum coming
To life!
To life! I say!
(
Read more... )