[from: the Loss Lieder]
so
slick maybe closed is foundations of government w the print fading away as it
reaches the right-hand margin all to sleep cataract or bubbling in pots all
across neighbor’s hoods / actual implants tear-ify paper dolls inch-combing /
all wheels lack flipping as plane in the torn clothes cops a feeling ratted out
and across / by song? / advances basic leapt at a shortcut circuit spark to go
out on the lamb as / sacrifices belt up or liquefy (across known lumbering yardies)
the sambas
rattle
is a route i to tons of little bleak things or tape in the acid clouds / they
got voices compared to notes / the meaning is rampant at an early history till
they just remove human from the menu like foam taking a rattled potshot at
light / this glows tot hype mean shelf life debit capable / rake i hear ya in the down that’s where
flowers danced all the yatter’s got
happenstance at the vivid or slightly charred edge / if in molecular
cues bad voice sinking in a descant if then hit it harder going to train at the
sinking one time in urban matricidal fair or just goes right to the slicer or
juicer but wait ! at midnight there’s
always more / if life’s closed, knock (then batter the thing in
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