This Is Not Art

Poetry to Split the Social Order

Wednesday, February 29, 2012

The City

The city
all splayed out
on the bottom floor of the morgue
a dim light flickering overhead
and a cold table to rest its head
while I
a parasite
living on the last vestiges of its life
waiting to die
swimming through the veins of this cold place
have found meaning
in the fading light
of this dying body

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