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Two Fictions |
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Peanut Butter
We postcard after, lighthouse an ellipsis. What's a serious talk? The
morning's before, eagles are fucked. Everyone hears something about
dogs. A fifth gets jacked by the I.R.S. We're spread with a murmur. The saddest fact of the world is batteries. You're tea for I'm no second sentence. We're growing where nothing's god. Excerpt: in lieu of a mirror, let's fuck ourselves pretty. Then we sell the rights to the right of what's left. |
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