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My stories
This is some sun
I want my tent in the centre of the stadium hub, the limb distant sound systems and girls with wings will be something. This weekend I won't write poems I will be an aerial of optimism, my skin will bubble like gum
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- 1314 reads
Feedback
At night here the trees are broccoli that give our camp fires vitamins. The sun, unlike a lozenge Is harmful to our health we sweat in our tent skins spit roast our knees and are shocked when friends tell us
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- 1088 reads
Palendrome
With the left I pull poems apart With the right I win decisions.
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- 1359 reads
the environment might mind
When you called to tell me I had left the gas on the back door unlocked the windows, in your words, 'blocked with bolsch' I stared at that photo in which you lit your face up from beneath, and waited for the kettle click
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- 1121 reads
Forehead, kilner, unicorn
He said he smelt honeysuckle when his forehead kilner crashed the tarmac. 'We want more white lines' said his sister, drawing up a petition on the right side of his hospital bed. 'But its not like there is no language for reason'
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- 1049 reads