what was once was never onced, stream of froth from mother mouth
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what was once was never onced, stream of froth from mother mouth
bolting as the second verb, securing a rising floor from the ground
long last tumbles over board member crease the wheel sweetly smelled
from toe to temple, for us only, a fist-sized fire while other sears
task up dirt in the bury of people non history typeface
oh the worm rises to a heaven, imagining arms for us
ten throats are almost vulgar breathing out their not said be
free for tall treed lumber root bad guys outing picnic aunts
when left to count pixels, let a finger feel glow’d lack
the map moves us, folding skin into neat lines for the box