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anna kiss
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thrush there is no warbling birdsong from ‘neath the long grasses of these subtly sloped mountaintops unless it is a microscopic hum that bacteria make while chewing inaudible to this ear and the deep painful drinking of the two year old nearing sleep we rise and fall our breaths slowly and unknowing of what munches just below the surface these peaks are ablaze the rivers are burning and slowly spinning single cells are consuming milk and spraying ethyl alcohol on the fire. posted by anna kiss @ 2/01/2008 01:10:00 AM |
2.01.2008 |