shadow of the blinds

these days are long and mechanical. I have seen no visions of cunt or cum in the hazy poetry of times such that muse is but a word personified into a whore bating me "come come take on my STDS and I will swallow you forever never holding me" in the shadow of the blinds there is a man without a mind singing "this is the iron mine and this your hatchet and saw, this is the iron mine and this is your hatchet and..." fury from the windows in mandarin as i drift sleepily, hurling my hatchet at the base of the skull - "why are you violently moving?" says the mindless one in the shadows of the blinds, and the base moves, forgetting the ashy ceremonies of day and soothed though knowing some deceit is under the harvest moon.

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