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Nov 13, 2002

The pinnacle of beauty died with Sedgwick. The preacher’s daughter lives in a well by the side of the road. The foreman”s son is too busy to speak from popping pills. I drink when I think of our love and my mother’s on the line with a point to her wrist.

I’d brave the black jungle juice and wild head-monkeys that would slaughter my soul to once again feel your atmosphere.
Envelope my soul
My touch
My sight
My tympanic
My stink
My Extra-sensory deception
To feel your mirth in my limbs
I should be so lucky — you should be so careless.<br/> -m

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