[from:
the Loss Lieder]
bad or kay in
a quay fan mired here retreated inland see !
see: ridership flub hold any that
has mission a choir manage creep toss lag fascinate / it’s how you howl that
favors all that was no accident to continue to the point / slake how you manage
to an envelope is the way that hospitalized gets cutting / just linger dynamo
in slits that whirl, go to fun broke ash in a croft ceiling at one with a
deviation in time or tears go missing the target as a slip in a slug & a
taglet slides moving / i’m here in one
fictional branch of the time-stream with computers & my steam-driven cutlass
/ this demon-strates compart-mentalized reasons of breathing in a muddlepace as
insanity defenses / a rose for the runners where lifing is a slope thing,
gorving or there there nane little squire:
now imagine a creaking century calendared to squeal
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