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Because: you Expect something Drastically Mammoth—
And like Bad Meth, I’m Addicted to Disorder
And Glorified by each Failed Method—
A Shloppy
Fart made Sharp by Memorizing your
Smell by Heart—
The Question of Survival, Increasingly is of a Trivial Pursuit.
And the Directions: Always Indirect—
(-ily) Altarsnoof
y boom
El Capitan~!
sowearerecatooming
for the Big-Balls
of the Moon—
and Apart from
the South—
and
Especially the
Hum-Drum—
Body and The Dinger-Doo
that Shakes—
the
Conception of
this Body—
Concepts the Drull
City still
Awake—
Thus: Exhaust-Over the Things in Life that just
will Not-Fucking-End
For: What We Do Learn is the Need to Smother and Slather all over:
this Love, this Love, this Love—
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