Gary D. Morton

The Fuck Circus

Metallic scraping of machines
Announce the heraldic arrival of sin,
All along the horizon, glittering with despair:
petrol bombs filled with perfume,
The lone renegade wrapped in lace, leaking lilac;
Glistening orifices, await degradation,
Scorched lips, speculating, soliciting for love,
unwelcome, repetitive penetration and devastation,
Slippering into existence, two parts per million,
floodlit orgies, with inconstant waves of medication,
welcome to the fuck circus,
drenched in clown saliva and popcorn cartoon slits,
the stench is overwhelming,
confess to the acrobats,
as they can still see the



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