(Author's Note: these aren't turning into anything more than they are [at least, i don't think they will.] so i'm just posting them together. these are prime examples of the seizure of the poetry demon.)
"there is no bridge to gamble on,
no fortune’s path to seek,
the only baby she’ll be having,
is the one above the sink."
"I make circles.
Drawing concentric pleasure,
Manipulate puckered flesh
Feels like jazz."
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