A social site for poets in Sydney.
the sound of her was in the street
flayed to an ochre asphalt
dripped down from a generous bourbon
fermentation brings a night that doesn't hurt
the stench of cancer is in her vomit:
she knows she doesn't have long
until it's shit in the sheets
and a pain that can't be described
it hurts just to blink
and you can't even
slow it down
but before
before this time
that doesn't feel real
she was…
ContinueAdded by Daniel John Kofler on September 13, 2012 at 22:42 — No Comments
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