The Interactive Poetry Pages
Gothic/Surreal - Three
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Poem Number 1680
where their eyes meet
across the iron gate
across the mile of graves
I wanted to ride him on that cold dank earth
and fuck, fuck, fuck!
Fuck it all away.........
oh! santa!
Commentary:
huh
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is there any context you'd like to add - you know, so that this sucker makes a little sense or something like that? just a thought..
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it's not meant to make sense
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gifts for everyone
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allegedly
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