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He is Witnessitis
He painted his fingers
He will wait for the sheep to come to him
He likes the smell of fresh baked bread
He wishes to dine with her at that silver place
He rides a bike
He conquers cities
He owns a gun that he does not wish to use
He dies every day
He is in heat
He strays from the junkies and thieves
He hears people tell him that he is a manipulator
He walks the streets full of subconscious persons
He is not prestige enough
He must take photographs
He is gay, he is an artist, he writes poetry, he must be gay
He lasts with a golden flower
He payed his dues
He has no best friend
He drives a porsche
He develops his own drugs
He is an angel
He has curiosity that kills him on corners
He has not been mugged
He crosses the street infront of speeding cars
He cleans up his city
He is full of noise and quietness
He will beat the living shit out of you if you fuck up
He would die for a friend or any other being
He loves to read
He eats language for breakfast
He was the one that started the fire
He can take the blame
He smelt death
He bashed his head on four nails on a locked door to say peace nightly
He danced to the punk scene for inspiration
He has a heavy lord
He melts like burnt buffalo
He is new year's special
He laughed at serious love
He created a symphony with blood and semen
He was taught
He left suddenly and unexpectedly
He never gave the tape to each one
He chained her down
He floated
He became your memory
He carved the orange tree
He thought of a new ism in his itis
He is an important witness

 1999 David Greg Harth