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Angles Morts

splinters

II perspective swap for who: the never do well awake to find the waterline is here the wooden mask who wears her splinters well the wooden mask beside a self sincere and just as all the beautiful losers do her pants are filled to burst with striking grass sequester ash and art the season through and dream that brook your only overpass the monofocus inching from your nose your last percent and spangled drown in draft like christmas jazz you mostly did compose forget what's said and hesitate, but fast, you trip off the tongue like isometric tiles of shrubs who trade their height for sense of depth all textured pixels fine enough for tiles all hairs together seek a sense of depth III unsorry washing watch this soapen figure did wash away the city grease and grime like all great soaps will now be washed to water what sediment here with gritten flecks of thyme!? mirepoix is home for thyme when opportune - a soffritto maybe, oh, so controversial, but even garlic spurns a seifengrün who'll lodge in your eye and leave you clean but tearful

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