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Deck the Halls With Boughs of Folly
The Poetic Disquietude of Michael Dec
Whispering Women
a point on the meat tangent must hear
my water to grow
A handful of formless branches
the words you forgot in a motionless instant
(don't waste ammo, she'll be back) (maybe)
When you're a crow all day,
see the shiny time stand still
But we can do nothing
How did our whispering slap us silly?
Did we always like sloppy geometry?
As a consequence of predictability,
you're vague, muffled explosions in my heart
Plaintive Voices
a whistling telegraph evaporates
Jesus just crawled up my smelly spine and
now there's no room, you hesitate, corn chowder
All the world's clutter up against my shutters
the gates are closing
I beg of you don't leave me don't not leave
me alone the tintinabulation
If you read this during the equinox I'll kiss you where
you'll never forget
You'll say to them "he kissed me there"
Anytime you want, I'll kiss you where
it beats loneliness
Dm7+E
A modern execution of a happy little TV set
in the brain cell, got no response, a rubber road
which leads to the electric chair, har har
He kicked the coffin into the chip bag
His 1930s surging through his body
so daintily, yet strictly porcine jaws
surging through his body
A happy hangman said she was
officially a "widower" again, enraging
the electrician surging through the gallows
the gallons of electrostatic blood amplified
as I cringe in my own dreams
Some execute a 1930s TV but I
cringe at my own dreams
​