before the ePetroglyphs break. Poem by Willi Paul. Co-Presented by Magazine &
Can you feel father's nuclear age wither my eyes?

ripped corners of books
carry our sound in your ears
a pound of Lincoln's tears
free soil hands steal

burning the winter fields
lying with the stars
waxing the Moon
ditching our cars

bingo stockings at St. John's
soup spoons
do you really need want to fill my shoes?
O, Light up your sin!

Let's kill the Manhattan wing before the ePetroglyphs break.

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Willi Paul