in the incoherence lies my cata sorry little thingsince that circus overunder a box of wool and somemore cereal in a seriesnot quite fruitfully cookedin the dungeonthe winter air cuts methe cat's paws soiledin the light of cloudssimplicity is not artit kills the derelict from itsroots, make a plantout of dead skeletons' souls
Sunday, February 8, 2009
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