at the end of this hill awaits a sun sweating in the gas flares peerlessly centered for yours
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at the end of this hill awaits a sun sweating in the gas flares peerlessly centered for yours
pleasure is a burning car, blinding gas from broiling upholstery smearing odometer and memory of miles
so smelled the flame hardening ponder in hearth heat, a star proves in the brow
wood ring index of the fine notes knotting under skin book for cover as hail comes
in light, hammer, in dark, fell; a curse upon the first head to strike sulphur
better than not slips through in always sufficient to slow traffic over chest bump
sludge builds a home at 9 am in the neat civil plan falling to earth
troil and touble, slound and fairly blurb on, mix light with sceptic, soothe wounds salve minor notetakers
drop an A into the gut, swelling acid in the bowl lifts a warm word onto the shoulder
seasonal crude flows over the credit we all take