yr lips are like diamonds they shake in the street the panther prowls green-eyed glowing marijuana scud missiles in the wake skin night
prayer amidst the mantises issues forth sideways ministry of a gasp hollow navel moons through which the skin erupts like mini-skirt belches of gyspy harps
inch forth little vacant one lose yr mind as trains moan far off in the distance there where stop signs mean no eyes and love is scarce
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