we were marching ashore through the brilliantly despondent clearblue eyes water
spreading around the island like bastard menstrual flow and we came upon the
grenadiers who were short men pitching large grenades into the splashing
electrically pissing water around us while we screamed and pitched down our
large new boots from two days before into the muddy frustration while around us
plays the ambient terror of seven men grinding seven minds and seven-string
guitars distorted to the howl of satan's fiery orgasm into the anus of the
fallen angel beelzebub who smoked more stem of the flagrant ecalyptus than any
mortal and spat back fire and retorts at the gods waxing idiotic above him in
the sunset like blood on a dashboard or perhaps rising to the skin after
thousands of lacerations are made as sacrifice to the great junkie god icon ego
of happiness leaving the will resplendetly ignored refulgent in the back
dumpster igniting the trash to inhale the fumes and feel the endlessly darkened
voice rising in his throat until the agony starts like the power chords sluttly
sliding downward and all that can be heard over the mewling howl of the flames
is fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck over the frustrated range of the reigning
bowelsplat like children sundered in grass under the roaring nazi planes coming
to teach us sense & take our souls and all that is left is fucking ...
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