Anything could be liquor right now. A tight swallow down a swollen throat. It could be sweetness and transmute in milliseconds to bitter-water. This is the plague that affects all parts of the flesh when loss is the landscape.
I don't hold it against the ones who start chopping the trees or stomach mud to see if it's real. We often want to go back to sleep. It's hard to recieve The Over. Everlasting is the dream we all do dream.














Comments
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Thebes: The cyborg would not recognize the Garden of Eden; it is not made of mud and cannot dream of returning to dust.
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I am the muffin.
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