Faulkner Street
The stench was all-pervading,
not unlike the fœtid stench of life.
The filth pronouncing our fingernails.
Our mornings a haze.
Thank god we were boys!
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About Me
- Brother Bastardfish
- A splodge poet of the highest order, Brother Bastardfish likes riding people and meeting horses. Please accept this as an excuse.
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