he cut her up
inside the grand blue gray there is amourous floating of livers and other
passions, there is repression. he cut
himself up and she cried out she
was his hand, his wrist, his perfect dead face after the school imploded.
we are living too quickly to catch the blood
there are insides and there are insides; there is infinity and there is
highschool sex on stained carpet over automatic guns. he cut
the metal open and found himself herself
she walked away into the explosion and looked back with great amusement
great pity. inside the circlur flying nothing he
cut and she laughed in the blood
she was you. the knife slipping over and over, cheap razors, cheap people.
and they say we are naturally good
the last pavilion 