Poem 5 some kinda cynic kinda mimic questions pass are inflamed surreal i am always listening to thought unravel much like burial on a different plane astral indifference or madness many infirm paralysed punks protest no less godley less holy repeat ryhmes of decay until maybe they reach momentum of guilt enlarged to a neutron of beats in a day the sun peeps..sneaks lies is drawn away is happier that way..is alone weep for the sun like the Inca while the moon makes love to a dying earth her pitted face no relation. Paul Anthony Dungey
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