in the dead of night
the post apocalyptic blur
layers the sky
mad mutterings
from a gunner
cursing out Charlie
under his breath
in a southern drawl
trying to sharpen his mind
against the surrealism
the words echo into the night
as they wade through the rivers
through the bodies
shooting out
profanities and heavy artillery
at the slightest
whats the matter now?

the cherry of a lit cigarette
is like a homing beacon

like a swarm of locusts

my mind shaves points, to give me relief from an outstanding debt.


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