shepard fairey

ras

ras

ras

ras

ras

ras

ras

gustav dore

our boys

death and burial

wm

Thursday, August 23, 2012

Oh Joy, A Master In The Mustard



prepare not for pitiful squeals, nor a turning
from where dark's being born; enter in. this is

your house. asylum to your abused, disowned
below decks, repository of all you’ve been

insulted, cheated, and shamed. don't be
drawn off; the vim steaming 'round the hole

is just memory, wavering; plunge in with
hand outstretched. draw them forth.

the pitiful hides of your cast-off lie deep in
forgotten cells only you can turnkey.


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