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Dec 21, 2024
The accretion of a perfect squall when claws were out -
scavenging novelties. A lewd paranoia slains a farewell
in a trench. The chamber has vomited a mound of gold blinding a shell.
The combs did not straighten the puff. The old man was very lonely.
I would stop hunting the stings of a bare-chested moon.
I recuse myself from judging the paperboat which wanted to cross the ocean.
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