Wikipedia Poem, No. 838

This room like an antique alarm clock after sex. It’s ironic? Shrapnel flies from the clock after sex. It’s ironic? Of dead grass someone in the lovingly engineered cocks of Cy is on the ghost of the wall. A bare light bulb illuminates the birth of blood. The authorial fallacy is on fire. Technology divided by people certain in the wall. A bare light bulb illuminates the ghost of blood. The authorial fallacy is fucking. Words emerge from a patch of blood. I drink gasoline to see the birth of the possible.