25¢/3min

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they’re talking your ear off

with words like scalpels

lighting your way in red

high on the mountainside

just out of nowhere

capitulating to a populace

bathed in seven deadlies

in neon and wind-striving

blithe and blistered

they speak to their father

to themselves in the night

the phone booth

of revolving thought

circles back again

and against the innards

O’ red light monolith

monologue with cheerful speech

and remember your fate

shine and die and fade