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The tradition state:
"let the language move
by charm of physick wit,
chemical syllable glue,
fusions d'etrangers,
and bureaucratic contraptionisations:
poets shall heel."

And once the strong words
are meaning squandered,
how shall we poets say?

The lingo pack is bounding on:
why the fuck aren't we scouting ahead?

image: po

Dylan Harris

it's my hands
my difficulty with melancholy
hence the coldness
fear in flight, god
dog sea
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