12-31-2010, 10:50 AM
With your disgusting phallus,
the sheer metallic scythe,
raised high above the tulips,
you swoop down on the scene,
beheading my precious harvest,
as the sun leaps like a child
on the red rimmed, shining steel,
and I bleed in the grain like a pig.
the sheer metallic scythe,
raised high above the tulips,
you swoop down on the scene,
beheading my precious harvest,
as the sun leaps like a child
on the red rimmed, shining steel,
and I bleed in the grain like a pig.
"We believe that we invent symbols. The truth is that they invent us; we are their creatures, shaped by their hard, defining edges." - Gene Wolfe