the perfect idea that no one else, please is something circular enabling a blasting false logical premise (hello modern mine), the muse of scorbutic cried call Amazon rain forest, too ill to go On,
The name brand of choice, in the moral sense, is danger modified by you cannot be more than me, tin ear, like a traveling globule of I am someone, or alone, or empty till unemptied, jungles meant for more,
Leaves really transit, After Language and such as province, when thinking in time,
A poem
is matted and arrayed anyone
Can tell
Language was here
Once maybe
Only once
And the precursors
Who we are
Want more than
After that
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