Friday, August 21, 2015

MUSK ATTACKS!!!

Each August—descending fat 
and high from such 

insidious and 
cabalistic stacks—

there at the 
back—of this or that

formidably- 
cold planetary outpost;

the orbs!—

mute with dark odd 
perfume,

faint 
with pale spiderflesh,

and very very 
strangely 

heavy for their sizes—
dive

and aggressively 
crashland!—into all the unsuspecting 

grocery baskets—
as they pass.

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