Category: Poetry
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our raw bodies will torpedo till we hit shore
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playing ‘Ice Cream Man’ by Raye.
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Sticky like smoke in the lungs, where air meets desperation
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When my heart breaks, there is a thunderstorm party and no one goes
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All the new words are flavorless communion wafer Latin
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Here was the next coming of Michael Jordan
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penguins have knees
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a good organ, doing as it is told with
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Being queer doesn’t make any sense in this world
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She fears he has broken up in the atmosphere.
