partial lincecum. the dark rot of a miasmic minamilism. who were the gatekeepers of our plentitude of mutilation? when the caller came knocking it was well past three in the afternoon. "this ground is crying" he said pointing into the blaze of a thousand millions helium solar parcibles.
by the time eddie from vargas came to help the pretarded had already gathered on the front walkway. a multitude of gawking. like amputated ants struggling through their legless apartheid. we soaked our poodles in wet limestone and gravel.
the skies opened up with the vengeance of the ignorant. caught bewteen crossfires of god's veins. we bleed out our eye sockets.
the pain takes us away on sheets of grandeur.
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