Tuesday, January 11, 2011

six-legged giraffe(Why oh why didn't I choose the red pill?) by Da Owl

She’s near;
hear                the tramp of her step,
tchick, tchock!
        like empty, hollow skulls upon an infected tree
        that sound, like jumpin’ jazz riddims
                banged out in groups of three.

...a cold night, when the roof loomed low and the walls were like
        Imperial Star Ship trash compactors,
the six-legged giraffe was in a cold corner
        her two eight-ball eyes locked on me.
The pit of my stomach: hollow,
the weight of my head: 0 lbs, 0 oz,
and a marvelous, masochistic tingle in the head of my penis.

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