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[personal profile] burnunit
(Tuesday, September 03, 2002 )

she wanted them hunched and mysterious and filled with butter or tiny refractions of the great light. she loved him longingly and not well but with fingers of plastic molten and electric. O her sighs! O her sighs like the respirations of highways, the rightness of hardware and the loneliness of each blade of grass!

nothing waits like this nothing waits like a barnacle long-tongued and ready for the fire.

my love is like a man made out of sand and jailed in a dog tied endlessly and with joy to a caravan.

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burnunit

May 2009

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