bite off neurosis, This Time I'll Make It -- standingat the front of the check-out line, lime kombucha mozzarellasome kinda Raw, this Time i'll make it -- keeping timeinside yourself, inside your chest, counting ribsthe boss is not your mother she is not your father she isnot coming to get you in the divorce: why… Continue reading poem: April Is The Cruelest Month
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i could be bound in a nutshell and count it as infinite space if not for these bad dreams
the last pavilion 