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Brit Parks


Salome, stop believing this huzz pile

Unfettered whale bones make you a forced companion

I saw her making up the names for Laurel species There are 206 kinds, scientists eat Latin like it is milk-fed They cannot act tired of naming, we cannot act tired of hiding This act is forth-right in dependency and leaf alterations

Worst-ed in upheaval, I am feeling my feathers moult I am happier with a junkie nerve for failure It is terrible terrifying to admit your bones are all crooked They crick each other out of place in turns

You seem like you are sparing a starling But you are just guilty

Porcelain knocking around and forgetting to say please


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