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Vesper The dots of day hang lightly together and the tender rain leaves a purple dew. The air is thick with the deep fragrance of a million tiny homeless pets and life and now (a mutant force) to natural efforts turn and grab as unconceived pools and voids lose their membrane of death. Surfaces that lightly mingled and erotically twinged at finity have warped and withered, decomposed, succombed to winter's legacy. The tides of evening forfeit gold no longer beam a revelation and the fetal pose of concentration seeks an infinite hibernation, demands spontaneous generation. |
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