Death Abound and The Orphan Choir is Off-Key.

Can the smell of Eastern Luxuries distinguish itself
From the botched disinfectant of True-Filth-Stateside-Lube?

Whispered in the public school bathroom…
“Shadows of eggs frying, people yawning and coughing,
all permanent castings on the demolished brick.”

Homemaker indulgence.
Nothing more
Than vandalism
On the wallpaper
That surrounds Armageddon.

Whispered in the State Capital bathroom…
“We have leaked secrets from newspaper veins.
Turns out the public is acquiring transcendental enlightenment
by staring at the black-mold in their rentals!”

And hunger.

A Snapchat,
Of purple eyes
Winking rational lust.

His purple
(more magenta)
Dances like a bruise
But sings like a scar!

Watch his waddle
Out to the Gallows
Where ornaments swing
Like pendulums in the wind.
The last chokes of slaves
Echoing to the Golden Eternity.

And the filthy
Clean the mud.

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