My head is empty, As a great hall
The words
They echo, Off the wall

Thursday, May 20, 2010

A disturbance at the deli

I'm sorry.

I don't mean

to be rude, but

I won't be having

any of your salad.

Man behind the counter. I've seen

how you make it. I've seen

what you do. You are an explosion

of filth, and food. And

you stink,

of onion. And

feet. And sour milk.

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