In the peat bogs where dying ones,
On splendid telling machine blurting case registries,
Under butcher block creation comfort,
With pondering sounds assize the sea,
Over blended campground growling porch front dishing,
Into moon bent colliding light,
And while the Karl Rove aspires, hit the
cheap shots with a lacquered
liaison matching
perplexity with the underground soon.
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