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■ The oak
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I’m drowning
with the coughing sirrup that sirrup from the glass that broke itself spreading arround its shards spattering the insects walking dirty through another little broken bottles with feathers arround their neck or their cover ivory smog of crucked leaps subtile plumage of peacock on your eyebrows of little girly girl with your acustomed series of monologues in little glasses bibed through the straw between teeth I’m remembering the years of my childhood and the stepping of that mycroscopic chord new elements in new compositions or new wrappers more attractive screaming colours my chord is fractured under my feet violently tatuating my front in braille language or savage algorithms like a big sole of an iron on my poore forehead trigonometric scratches don’t float anymore! with your head upside-down and your red hair yellowed grey caviar exploding with minor grenads our radar passing pictures into the light the whole zodiac beneath your creps on the ceiling and you’re pulsing the second meat candelabrum with the blossom pores and your broken glass into the mosaic of puzzles giggle little girly girl assemble your eyes quicky from the syrrup until the morning is scrambled from it’s shell synchronously arround you
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