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I footslog at loggerheads with myself just like a mad dog that bites its own tail. I plot a lese majesty but is the monarchy a travesty or is it me? Moving on to the stadium it radiates, a symposium under an open sky, I wonder why I am here. Then a cheer echoes from the throats of those dressed ties and fancy coats and floats noisily, just like the ocean that crashes lazily into a sea wall. I fall, a thermometer and try to gauge the temperature, it's as cold as a tomb and no room for the footslogger or the tail he tries to chase. The sound of the clock that turns around a closed in universe appears worse in the mornings when I wake.
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Mar 12, 2015
Mar 12, 2015 at 7:34 AM UTC
Collecting the empties
I footslog at loggerheads with myself just like a mad dog that bites its own tail. I plot a lese majesty but is the monarchy a travesty or is it me? Moving on to the stadium it radiates, a symposium under an open sky, I wonder why I am here. Then a cheer echoes from the throats of those dressed ties and fancy coats and floats noisily, just like the ocean that crashes lazily into a sea wall. I fall, a thermometer and try to gauge the temperature, it's as cold as a tomb and no room for the footslogger or the tail he tries to chase. The sound of the clock that turns around a closed in universe appears worse in the mornings when I wake.
john-edward-smallshaw
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Mar 12, 2015
Mar 12, 2015 at 7:34 AM UTC
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