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Infinite Monkeys. Infinite Typewriters.
More in Dregs & Other Unreadables pulling back the curtain to let sunrise ini sketched our fragrance in black ink
on the whitest bits of your flesh you feigned sleep, while i marked it down orchid, no last month's moldy beans, perhaps then with a warning, "i love you," sung with chicadeees and poison skinned toads the best of me splattering nasalward crushed lemon and bitter black pepper, "Yes, my love. My darling." you woke with a sneeze to another bad dream. |
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