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Y'all are not Man, but men, or, rather, horses - beasts walking on all fours, snorting.

You thank the fates,
Admire the muses,
Love the savior,
O yes,
You love,
You love
When they're(*) gone.

Senses, rather than Sense.

Your toasted sugar does not create, nor sustain,

The fruit alone.
Your every breath
Moist exhaust
Close your lips
Shut your lies
Maker of Points
Builder of Worlds
Genitor of Scattering
Phantom of the Know

Garden Mine,
Leave my Home.
And Kiss My Gnome
Girls ****** in the sickamore tree,
Bleed a little dream of me.
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