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forgetting all your warsTo Luke Buckham's previous piece     your mouth will stop hereTo Luke Buckham's next piece

alarm clocks trampled on the sidewalks, massah.

meanwhile the noblest faces in your styrofoam country
go unnoticed as nosebleeds in a war hospital
fists fly past my face & i see their split knuckles infected
see their armless pedestrian bodies shredded by heavenly light
the obvious stupidity of every major newspaper
like a reptile eye opening in the palm of my hand
the middle class burying it's face in plastic intestines
in a wet junkyard of static artistic souls flattened like soda cans
my icepick eyes climbed the flagpole 
& didn't take on the small glint of it's scum
my foot went through a whining television & came out unscathed 
the hands of my spirit have pinched the red from your faces
that i might see the lugubrious neanderthal smirk inside your charity
that my heels will punch through your frosty landscape 
and let a volcano of blue alien blood to wash your streets of hollow eagle bone
I watch your long flaking tongues wrap around dead microphones
your magazines like melting halloween masks
your endless consumer solutions, your thin hallways of xeroxed cash
and I love my cartilage armchair in the fork of voided roads
I've had a first taste of your gunbarrels wrapped in cotton candy paperwork
and I have vomited you through a wide grin that will bite off the next fist

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