They savour the ulcerous fruit
Preferring this reproducible rapture
In the stead of true-life feelings
They sit collectively stationary
Raging in their hallucinative nature
Under their psychobiological bliss
They cohabit a malodorous perdition
Hiding languidly from the future
Within their great nectar of Nepenthe
But, while they yet grieve in
Their cacophonous solitude, a creature
Reaches the arterial manna of life.
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1 comment:
I missed psychobiological bliss the first time. ANOTHER gift.
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