godmund's words


 

she reads as she goes as she looks and notes
she knows a little language of curse

poetry would do as warm milk or sex.

along bent backs, tricky land
Entirely purposeful
a tune and a spell and a trint of quells
a tune and a spell and a trint of quells
And who should care of murderous features?
Entirely purposeful

mayby its wrong.
where we ought to preach from the sadles of sour mules.
I let the world look to you.
on siderial clocks a cycle mocks a step forward

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