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Fire Cru

He opened car door,
cigarette smoke billowed out,
clouding old bastards walking past.
His girl friend likes shit.
Shit music, shit clothes,
But most of all
shits like him.
He wears a football shirt,
Wallsall, should be Arsehole F.C.
Equals Fuckin’ cunt that he is.
He lolls back,
Grunts the great inaudible
“As thar gor anoother?
Leet it up fer us pet.”
By freakish fingered sleight of hand,
she slews across, drops lit stick back
in its box. Up flares the lot,
fair and square across his
milk white hairless chest
Football vest up in smoke,
her screamin’, him blazin’
Amazin’ sight.
When he was good and proper crisped
I risked life and limb, like what you have to do,
doused him in a bottle of Premier Cru

11 May 10

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Weird little write but I liked it
 — psychofemale

really a flash prose thing, and the stanza breaks actually fragment it into seeming like it should be read with a great deal of attention, when it's evident that these are mental scenes leading up to an event at the ending. a story format would help the landscape in this be more credible, and give the reader something to navigate by as they follow your 'thoughts'.
 — bmikebauer

Well...I'm a weird little person psychofemale
 — larrylark

I like to take a novel appraoach sometimes
 — larrylark