I found this ART while exploring the wilderness. This is some deep shit right here. The plaintiff husk of a West Virginian who just couldn’t make it to the shelter of this port-a-john before the blast guards the door to this stall. An Untitled Poem of dank, nihilist prose in a beatnik, magnetic-fridge-poetry format is the only remaining witness to future shits. <strike>Aces</strike> Deuces.
