Saturday, January 11, 2014
poem || Sean Schemelia
beta germ collusion
exterior. human figures,
hunching figuring sedimentary solace
and fruity sitting out bastard in the wholesome
sun. knocks on the door three times.
jostles his way in the door. always the one
with a gun up his ass. "Who points fingers around here?"
we all stopped speaking a long time ago.