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it's slow, uneasy when my hand slips and i'm falling twenty two stories to tar, far more like a fairy tale; so it fades, cut my brain and slit my wrist on the kitsch parasol in the afternoon, now we're daredevils: steal a car, make a bomb, lead the pack.

and the stage is a scare, scare up the nerve to tap out a heartbeat on your death drum, dumb when we're tired and we've smoked too many cigarettes in the cold; outside, it looks like a really real heaven, feels like frostbite, out of sight, must be out of our minds to think we think when all we think is only a coma white chemical, fluid like gel and liquid sticky goo like semen, it's foo.

the black cola smokes, so find a shite bloke: never moves his pawn 'cause he's english, he's irish, scottish or welsh, what a chameleon tease; tripping on transparency with a blue cherry, my fish is an ugly see-through hero, perseveres in sequence, subsisting on fascination in aqua.



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The following comments are for "cola fish"
by verve

verve
Heya chief. You know I love your stuff, but it might be time to experiment with some new stuff. Talk to ya.

( Posted by: praxidikai [Member] On: April 30, 2002 )

praxidikai
like i said in one of my comments, i'm migrating all of my stuff to lit.org from newest to oldest. eg, this isn't stuff i've written in the past few days. taa.

( Posted by: verve [Member] On: April 30, 2002 )





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