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Dirty table, high chair, hungry bear A mother eats her young,  doesn’t anybody care?   You don’t know my reason,
A melancholy longing settles over the streets & avenues heading east, One third of tobacco in a pre-lit cigarette no longer satisfies rushing & starved organs,
You hear it. You hear it on the news; you hear it in school. You hear it from your parents, uncles, family friends: “You are a freak; you’re a thing, you are separated, quarantined
The Sky is blue,And full of poo,falling, spiralling, down,from white and brown-speckledcreatures They call seagulls. And the moral of this story is-Shit happens.
her body swallows my body, a willow wanes its branches under the crest of the moon, the bloated earth sings with air swinging her body disturbing the brown threads of hair.
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