Sleepy Suburbs

My favorite poem



Transcendence of lies that form bodies-- so long, so beautiful. Disillusioned truths intangible-- to him, to here. This mask is here, now what can you say dribbling the mind. That faucets definitions of rumored silhouettes standing amongst shadowy fields Fruiting deception ignorantly eaten in the currents of living rooms universalized around television and scrapes of conversation hollow of majesty and significance In the kings eye. But devoid of any Merriam worth, of any true lies. Guard dog, watch man, watch, but turn your back and feel the cold embrace that fickles limbs tossed in beds, so campy, brittle with stories of waking hours and waking showers that compound good will, and destroy theirs. Unpopular measures in sleepy suburbs that whisper of conspiracy or neutrality and empirical experience, deteriorating beer heavy bellies into cold, shoveling hands picking guitars and up cigarette butts that feel hot like writing paper pressed for dangerous…

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