The drug of my drug-- begotten, not made-- as a pause a cliff a bluff of my bluff kin (d’ling d’ling) ch, 1) the Knifeblade threads untold bellies’ buttons through buttons, one after the next, to, he says harpoon god. I consider the foreskin gone of my forekin gone agin. I wander along the dark falls of your night where the light fists in. there is a kind of magnetic ailment I rail against a kind of steel garter belt that wraps thigh trembling hand-thigh ordination, all hail of yours; ahowl of it, a bloodless trauma of inbeaten hearts: poundless, penniless, and free.
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