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Amitabha

i hit the barke again it was a break in the paradigm, still a question to me, whether or not


Death is a God, that is no doubt about a thing, when I found it then at the entrance to


heaven i could not believe it for to speak, I got sick when I brought her there and left a


hole in the shoe the ground of fools cap the mushroom powers are ferocious, I sweat


and I swear and I promise we touched as many as we could before we called it in before


I cut it from the tree i took it from the vine, the part i cut with the sharper stone, it was


longer back then the introduction and it swang like a swingster in a sewing park, like a


back patch i ordered from the interenet that came with a squeeker, like the time i spent


forgetting everything and writing it down as it happened he said to me he whispered it


in my ear i swear it sounded like he was thankful i was there that wart and we ran from the


queers and we chugga chugga the beers in the dunes before the squinters draw the blind


man a theif draw the begger a skip that stone and keep walking on water floating for a


friend old man figging for a button chained to the radiator against the will power of a script


the mind gets erased they the monkeies in the brain keep lifting the monolith before a


dream after a dream reality the same to me every time in every way you spin it touch my


diamond again make my friend your friend who's friends were they to begin with, knot


in the floor game string the rope round a tree and lift the canopy once we were in the


garden once we were walking through the fields of meadows each drop of dew ignited


a spark of a memory again somewhere in a land somewhere far far away from missing a


good game because what it is is a calling a stall at the pizza hut the promise of another


animal collecting leaves from the tree playing the pan pipe for the llamas tooth ache


breaking my quartz into pieces she says like the salt like the bathtub was full of red ink


again just for blimpies we're sinking put puts we're timing this sand and counted diamonds


I spin again the same time for the first time once more, atop the compass is a poem atop


the poem is a home reflected in the tear caught her when she was falling at the show into


the pit the darkness took a shit in the lawn outside the hotel out of the window well he was


out of the window i was in the spindle and she was waiting for a kiss from a mooshie

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