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Jun 2018
Troubadours seeking like foxes.
Coughing out highway apostles.
As holy hands drip pitch,
and a glaciers black glass slips
over and over the Lords burnt tongue,
stuttering into ladder rungs.
Of seconds brittle and heaving
and dragging on.
Like miles
upon miles
upon miles
upon miles
of stitches like fields.
Written by
VDL  34/M
(34/M)   
91
   Rich Hues
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