All we get are the coffee grinds The mighty converge in golden dimensionscrouched behind Cornish hens and brutforging the new world for the exclusive benefit of all charades for fools and the scribbling bloodsuckers fantasizingvomiting steams of foulnessthe be lapped up ignorant optimists applauded from the blackrobed rotundalet it be known he did not dieContinue reading “Poetry Corner: “All we get are the coffee grinds””
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