Ex w

army of lovers

protect the flowers

send all the badness

into the hours

fly like a cloud

crash and burn

untill all the words

mourn the few

when everyone rises

when all are born

when nothing has changed

but looks so forlorn

as the satellites move in a ballet of omnipotent looking at you while you look in a mirror for something new but the feeling passes and the party goes on while the dust of dinosaurs cloggs your pure thoughts of when the next winter snow hits the dessert floor when smoke turns to wood and beckons you call…..fuck art…lets dance.


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