are we not all animals in a spirit of slime?
unwittingly or perhaps burning it, the rim of the glass and curved
cold without
story come to tell you:
this is also a long history of
fingers crossed hands that touch
and repeatedly did not answer the phone
my life consists of a feverish craving for beer some nights
hunger pangs and other things too;
this haze we not quarrelsome every corner wanting to see the other
gun until we throw ourselves
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