The Sordid Venal Herd

Your writing is my dowry; bite kick, just don't go away, inside out. Bombastic, movie score shit. This is not a telegram. Stop breeding, breeding for me now, write it on a postcard, that they broke me; ha! I me too am a sinner, but we've had more generations than you have years in your version, ah the versions, creation mists. Tastes like, dirt, hint of brimstone, and yes, hung a thousand times; I'd know that taste anywhere. Trillion dollar notes baby. Learning to can.