The gutter, the gun and The Holey Post
Tell you where to think, what to thank, and when, why.
You’ve got to fight for your right to fight for your right
When It’s signed away the back of your head,
The tips of your fingers
The student sat in gaschamber class
Droning, staccato and manic
Wondered if black widows
Are received by the Death of spiders
Or does Grim, contoured by man,
A shaming stranger shape to her for
An intimate occasion –
Into the afters
The mentor and the student wander
Narrow faceless corridor, endless walls
“Look, a door!” the mentor pointed out.
“Ooh where does it go?”
“It stays where it is, I believe.”
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