truth (a note in crayon)
altitude of thought
colliding as image..
time the slip
of simple life
matter is corrupted..
the role mashed
to protein
a sticky discharge
she asks should writing
be beautiful
or raw or subtle.
..it is a lifted thinking
banging silently
in the darkness..
listen..
i fondle
what i find of me
of you..
strumpets of slow
weather
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