The Boy That Cried Wolf Spider

Spider webs stretch and form pentagons from the cherry of my cigarette

Performing a ballet recital for the soon to come stills of clouds and breath of the autumn air that my mouth catches in a slow motion stance

Dirt and water sticking to this new arachnid aroma filled trampoline dining room

I cut the gritty silk with my karate formed hands and grind the smearing on my blue jeans

I hope they don’t smell it on me

I should probably wash my clothes

I flicked my fiendish fag into the ferns

Next time I will leave a torch

Joshua Tool – 09/28/12

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