Monday 6th February 2012 6:51 pm
Broomed up all above day and night for weeks and nothing.
Look look for torture and the hotsaw pipe of bunsen burner flame.
The need to feel weary and casual for this, just this, justice.
Petshop fire in the drove slick moon.
Clearcut silence from the Ten Year Hammer.
Then came the giggle of prison:
Switchblades, throatscrapes, eyeopenings, honeymoon showers, crooknuckled warden huggers,
fat lip rumours, various breaks
and all these.
He himself him waiting beforever and time is less than x in prison.
Mus muscula tiny trolls of lovely dead eventuals.
Him he sees in the mice mus
from deep in the dark crow dead sell a mung
downbeats, victims, optimistic killers,
a comparison of mice accepted.