Crept up slip, sudden spilling cups
engulf my breath lay, hope tolls
death seems like all this space, enfold

Enough… please
scre —
mean, coldness of old hot & summer rotting
molds
moreeeee, tore swirler, doors
all fours, no secret just fear, deer
dear…

It seems so far, but look again
you know it is near
still, the will
is false, crazy pussing fusses must
weird bellows and moans, arise from the dust
spurned face muck in the rust
evolving lusts

Plus
minus, how do you know who we are
you cannot find

Us

Published by Tom Lopes