Blurred vision in a box. The human body, some people say, is an image that shocks.
Fading in and fading out.
Strings of ribbon and strings of ink.
The blur, is a metaphor. A metaphor for censorship.
Shades of grey, not the book. Shades of gray, it is a look.
The bodies flow like sinuous waves. The strings fly by like airborne stains.
You worship nothing, you are a fool. Eruptions flow from the expanded pool.
Body, flow with me. Body, set me free.
Art is not a commodity. The faux artist and the non-profit.
I see the darkness of the human soul. Her heart is an empty fucking hole.
The black soul slowly fades. As it heads for its grave.
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