I listen to the husk around the voice in Underworld before during and after dark a deep romantic craggy voice wearing leftover ethnicity transparent to the eyesight and the words are sandpaper the friction of these sounds against the atmosphere turn irresistible and then repeat themselves
how does the psyche take in panoramic views without leaving small mountains of dust in twisted limbs how does masculinity survive inherent opposition beneath deceptive skin
the rainbow stays platonic never quite achieving status of the flesh and flesh just like a baseball needing periodic injections of its own importance starts to fail and keeps descending without uplift of the language without reverence that comes of crazymaking and inflationary talk
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