Sunday, September 28, 2014

Had Bryter Wan

  I stuck out my trudge. And I lay very still.
I gave set upon my marsh light. Stretched
   out my under there. Ran whole only until
wandering into my crinkle gaze. Went to
   flesh by about had seem strange. Here my
head muster parsed within my own racket
   being heard. The other weed that come on
later. I bent by my blossom rose. Will not
   dream again of hooves that hackled back.
I birth then which breathe were as hidden
   in progressive fissures. Had I float out in
the burnished sunshine. Paled on a twitch
   being. Had now a beginning uniform into
which I tipped a hat to. I had pulling away
   slept into glances. Then I dissipated back
to my crooked furrows. Simple than to the
   morning struck. It is under by poise tipped.

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