shepard fairey



ras

ras

ras


ras

ras

ras

ras

gustav dore

our boys

death and burial

wm

Tuesday, June 2, 2009

I’ve Been Sinking


in deep: every day parting these clouds with cracked fingers
I come upon mind giving muscles a comb-over.

We don't speak, anymore. And my yellow fat, what's still
strung of that, is waved by an uncertain wind.


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