Child with the Broken Penmature
The darkness of the sunlight
Is the ache of the screaming abyss' heart;
Under seven thousand shells of steal
Your head holds its tinsel counterpart.
And in the eerie silence
That deep throats the Earth,
Your god holds your intestines:
Quake and burst.
You dream typewriter litanies,
And, honestly, *@#* you;
The Mayflower sails at dawn:
You will ignore and tongue the taboo.
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