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Vomit in the Grass

Updated on September 4, 2013

July 6,2013

Step outside, high on a fresh day of life

Though the dream intervals never mended

There's vomit in the grass, Christ

Last night never ended.


But who am I?

For the oil shine fly finds it splendid

For I sit here alone, uncontended

For I sit here with you,

cross legged, unsuspended

Asking what's new of your travels through this zoo

What of those blues

sighs, eyes disguise truth

Clues, lost to the inattentive

Instinct turned foreign sentence


I am but goo

Staring at this stringy, slimy stew

Nice metaphor, though crude

The price for being attentive

There's vomit in the grass, Christ

Last night never ended.



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