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Poetry Surf

Of Montreal

Lady on the Cusp


The helium sticks to the knife
There's no Atlas to hold up your life
The modality that which vibrates
The phantom into untouchable words
Remote regions of sensories dwelling
Razor blade heels of losses [?]

Impotent vagina, we read one page forever
Who is Eva?
If we have a child we should name it Eva
Name it Eva
Name it

The blind bayonet of [?]
Hides every word in his poetry surf
Fraying sad traps of meager kicks
A gas, the thick collector of sapphics
You'rе quite frightened
[?] chiaroscuro cеrements unearthed

[?] porno-vision
Breath incision
Breath incision
Reading luminous threats
Fellow female marginals
If I were alone and being deathly unafraid and
Reticent about survival
She mates almost on purpose

Hounding of Cantos to idiots-triad
If you'd bleed other mycelium
Skills you were cured of on the cusp
That parity isn't saying very much

Composição: Kevin Barnes

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