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Where should we go for what we leave behind don't reach us like spears? We, toys with moldable meat at the time of the full moon feeling the whip of the wind and the icy glare of moonlight in the dark angle of these corners astonished at how the simple branch of pine cries a drop of dew on the blades of grass We see how much they crave the first sun he dares, infamous he is insidious and powerful as he gilds the edge of the light he possesses the savagery of potent heat Who insect would not extend their limbs seeking the redemption from this burning hope? There are four monthly moons if you want to fish There are four daily tides if you don't want to drown.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2022

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