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Do my ears look big in this? You’d tell me if they did, Right? Cause my forearm clashes with my pants. ...
grey dawn thin old moon alone and radiant
Bollywood ringtones Brighten my film noire mornings On suburban trains
She’s a delicate rose Found in flowery prose And I’m not her. ...
I’m listening to Hurt, which Johnny Cash now sings: the needle’s in his voice, a ghost lends him its wings, and even with the clash ...
The lights in the street are gold or white or blue.
The primitive grass says nothing of what’s to come. ...
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