Wednesday, August 24, 2005

steel garden

a postcard from the womb of steel, from the rusted dinosouars hulking over barren red sand, under a bleached white sky, the sun never shines quite right over here & the stars just don't seem to exist past the street lights & black smoke, voices drag across like static,& it's chainsaws by day, new intersections & bypasses, the hot perfume dances off tailpipes like heroin mainlined staight into the veins of our great nation, where we walk around with anvils above our heads, chains on our ankles, & monkeys on our backs... (still you'll tell me you need to get something off your chest)

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