Sunday, 28 October 2012

Hailstorm in Chalon

breezing outta the upstairs changing room hair blowing, scented like a slowed down music video radio station static tout droit wire's in a coeur corner head hail: made up arriving at the station ax wound weeping I'll palm the patch before piscine a pig (not dio) a shaved man on a run down road eating a bunch of grapes an apple (balled by a melon) it's obvious that my feet aren't in politics unless your set lips cause allergies

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