No end to these hallucinations. It's exactly what I've always known: no more faith is ahead of me, principals forgotten. I'll keep quiet: poets and visionaries would be jealous. I'm a thousand times richer, let's be miserly like a crows tale.

13

like a sunny Southern rain brings the smells of desire and decomposition. this Baptism came under a summers night sky, the stars a thousand pinned eyes. its slowly turning horizon searching a fragile lucid mind, foolishly thinking this will be worthy of reasons why. a garish cherub with a second hand reality, coveting all future sympathy for all humanities untoward. held down seasons with feet...
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