Thursday, February 11, 2010

Alerta paranoia machine


to businessman

or

not to businessman


everyone claims a piece of outerspace conciuosness

the anti-gravitatory shape of pop to come.

Bottles and ashes and pieces of greasy newspapers

Chicken bones

street dogs jumping in a sort of a kitten phase to collect ‘em

clashing like amused pigs in the dirt


while everything collides in the yelowish background


At some point all you can hear is the quick death beat of the referee

pointing his red card to the devil himself

wearing a tight and a tuxedo



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