This Is Not Art

Poetry to Split the Social Order

Monday, December 27, 2010

The Disgust is Dripping Down my Chin

If the bourgeois
Tears
all the life from our
eye lashes
and causes our limbs to
fall down like lepers
in the cobble stoned street
We will throw Molotovs
and burn their wings to dust
So we
can be the ones
who Soar

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