shepard fairey



ras

ras

ras


ras

ras

ras

ras

gustav dore

our boys

death and burial

wm

Tuesday, June 2, 2009

The Racist


in the mirror was likewise no prize
in other departments. Juice first gone
to vinegar, then turning hard, and bitter;
whither limb fled afore youth, or the other
way round, he couldn't say, nor answer
the bell at sixty-eight. The hell
with the crown.


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