Friday, March 27, 2009


Freezing fog smothering,
Last gleamings of truth.

Soldiers with refrigerator doors
For shields sleep in foxhole ditches.

Sub-humans raid the postman for
New dvd releases and bills they won't pay.

Boomers mingle safely in the malls,
Aimlessly wandering the jogging circles.

Agents fortify the Krispy Kreme and guard it
Like there is a purpose left for something.

Basement candles burn occasionally as
Remnants try to make it new again.

See Jane run. Run, Jane, run.

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