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an examination of beauty through flawcome baby come baby come
ooh, later gatelor
buzz into my room
reflective suggestive seaside of guilt
pushed forward and egged on by cushioned chairs
a mess of lines cracked my schull
until it breathed a sweet sigh of relief
in the future, hypothetically,
sometimes we go crazy:
interesting vergidamont puffles restrict the cops dddddddenial t fully restore the ciyt to its probr order.
or we might search for it in our diners:
licketysplit your msucles flow out of your body in a river of pure diabolocio intentm to aland soon into my btutter projerct i have oh so cultivated. i give you permission to intervene with this procleth and il want your warm love to enter into five ties six times as we never before seen utilize our surroundings and dance, silently asway a dance of deaht for only you to beefenit from, thoewh i too know somethign you don't, two whit: a fire, dear, a fire burns engulginf a ctity, ad your liove wihch you had to withrdaw for saftey reaosns and al
rhythm of remembered schism with dull refraina crushing blow, sire
to your every Plan B
(and to every nymph imagined
beyond plan B.)
what a night, what a night...
my eyes see
far beyond a single plea.
my kindness sees beyond nothing
and thus, extends to that very point
to embrace all living things -
all essential humans -
an embrace that ends in uncertainty,
and in complete unawareness,
and if i am to be the host
let me sink a bit further first
and until you tell me why you're here,
i throw confetti through your very soul.
hitting the wall, it bounces away and forms
a charming picture frame
with no image.
i see these quiet dances as a gift
from god, if you will,
or from me, most likely,
which can be further reshaped forevermore
into something slightly senile
but mostly juvenile and empty
to serve a greater purpose, which is to Be.
and my tombstone will say:
"i danced my life away with such notions
to an end that does not end.
make yourself at home. welcome, welcome."
i'm it's try tiping againi'm it's try tiping again. here's my 3 cents worth: I hate You. bruschetta aur gratin, c'est mon dish favorite. collecteing new blubs from the colors I'm optionized, it's easy to gdo. i'll have a beastly empire in no time, just please don't be frightened. they weill devour you and i will keep your seoul in little jars for drinking when im thirsty and feelin gthin. i bet you were typical. well, i've got news for you. your hair will come off. your scalp, too. maybe an eyeball or two for the mantelpiece. cccccccaw.
Nine TimesI saw him nine times.
The first time we were both sitting in the room together, getting ready to take the math test that would determine our placement. I was scatterbrained and throwing things around, trying to find the pencils that I had known I would need but had still just tossed in my purse. He was lounging backwards in his chair, looking for all the world as though he didn’t have a single care in the world, including the upcoming test. It annoyed me, that I was frantic and ready to scream, while someone else could be that relaxed.
I tested out of the class.
I don’t know if he did.
The second time I saw him, it was a few months after I arrived on campus. He was the one rushing and frantic this time, running across the square. He was probably late for class, though I had no way of knowing for sure. I was already lost in my own thoughts and ideas, deciding on my major and convincing people that yes, this is what I really want to do with my life. If they weren
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