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May 2013
Yellow-tinted-noxious-lung-warf-stunk-salty-oysters-stolen-rotten­.
Where am I? but the driftwood castle promenade, fish market gardens.
Congo jungle, steam ship sunken in crying river, village elder persists at warning.
Hear the fiddle burning, drug sullen quarter note steadily, it's veracious creak reverberates through me, the loveliness reveals me, and yet I cannot behold the.
Negligent narcissus subdue me, hurry up and ***** me.
Here is the birthplace of living curse, whats bottles up by living thirst, awakening face down in a black-bellied hearse.
Driven hard line through desert ambit , throttle locked at 85, no control, levers, nobs, or nodes.
Half a Cuban snuffed out poorly, sleeping in gaping jowls, I could not believe this thing even had an ash tray.
Death had bailed and locked the doors, filled the tank, and whippedΒ the devils horse.
I worn the blinders and found my pockets stuffed with carrots and a lighter.
Then i smoked what was left without protest, I was not about to ask what came next.
Scott M Reamer
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Scott M Reamer
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