Poetry Blogs (artless)
Mountebank
innards laid out, divined,
bloodless cold tripe
that cast insight on the plight of
who?
these maladroit
broadcasts naught
but considered shite
a drama of the here and now
in as many acts
as you can swallow
just breathless gasping
in the vacuum-packed plastic
of this necrotic head
that tonight bleeds a deviant intramural
spring wash along...
Saturday 9th March 2013 10:29 pm
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