Scintillating moving automobile making things clear for me, 

infants with their quivering lips sucking the burning and anarchristic milk. 

Through the creation and magnanimity of a woman, a stall worth. 

Expression against a melancholic satisfaction. 

I ain’t gonna give in to the concept of this sleep, 

this is poetry. 

Those vein popped breasts painting the bones, life bones; death bones; waddling bones.  

Between the eyes of this artist, a lump, the algorithm of this nebula. 

Let me flow with the star on that effloresce nipple, 

Suck away…kid…suck away. 

Protection from the scratches and bloodthirsts, for these pair of hibernating humanities. 

Yes, words with sex or without sex. 

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