Youthful Trust, Pre-programmed
By Michelle Noteboom
It’s the body accents and shelves – a whole new tightest bend in a field of natives. All that porphyry snagging the green light even at ten, glowing so clear like a bit of a bigger way into two-bit pills and three-dollar desires. But I, shiny, combing out indiscretions & taboos, all buzzed out and airbrushed into the night like no such thing. White-lit waiting until some sort of monastic explodes your horn (the most recent catch emerging out of the proverbial ground). Nearby skin focuses the myth of days, moon-flapped aureoles. The rhetoric reiterating the blaring stain on the violet shag: "there is no death".
By Michelle Noteboom
It’s the body accents and shelves – a whole new tightest bend in a field of natives. All that porphyry snagging the green light even at ten, glowing so clear like a bit of a bigger way into two-bit pills and three-dollar desires. But I, shiny, combing out indiscretions & taboos, all buzzed out and airbrushed into the night like no such thing. White-lit waiting until some sort of monastic explodes your horn (the most recent catch emerging out of the proverbial ground). Nearby skin focuses the myth of days, moon-flapped aureoles. The rhetoric reiterating the blaring stain on the violet shag: "there is no death".
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