- Non-Erotic Poetry
- Burnt Earth
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I thought thieves had a code. I'm a one cat robber and don't charge for sex. Some shit about gifts for free or pearls and swine. Those ones that pull your heart right out and drink from it's mess on the floor as it hangs from your breast while they pick your pockets clean. Now, I've gone up a level. The only thing they feel when fishing for something of worth now is crumbles of burnt earth or pennies I've found on the street right side up or upside down. This is not another hobo train. This is freedom from sin and caged like a mime in the holiest spirit box. This is a simulacrum. This is a scream in the dark for an end. My feet don't move and my hands gesture less and less. Nothing is happening but the heat and the hate.
