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■ The oak
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I am my twin mother
Searching for black milk Into my children’s innocence I’ll be waiting in 21 pieces In a smiling plastic black bag I’ll be waiting for the feeling My mother is Crawling through my insides Through my wooden veins I’m a twin branched tree Seeking food on both sides Of the rocky forest There’s black water Flowing through the leaves Haunting the light Waking the giant fluffy eyes And there’s the freezing Road to the numb light Hanging in the top Of the branches - Detour of the blessed ignorance - In a plastic bag In 21 peaces I’ll be waiting In the smiling black plastic bag For the drowning liquid Of conscience Tibet animals await me I’m on the way to the lake Pulling my teeth into the string I ask a single question Is this a beauty contest? I see a giant truck Every day It’s smelly Scorched engine oil I like it I’m just waiting For the feeling Nothing in the dream Just the dumb light of rest Station halt Peacefully stupid If the fist wouldn’t open The fire wouldn’t walk If the fist wouldn’t open The fire wouldn’t walk Again Split the mater in my sticky Shiny self Hand in hand the glassy stone Rolls over to the foot The foot rests And the garden grows into A remote, a pixel and a sealing A fall stuffed of yesterday me
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