exhorts the past to intoxicate her
"my own end?""but the yellow eyes"
"multiplied,""became so numerous"

leap from the old stones, cloaked in birds
sweet water, before the granite, fell into,
the shadow, fell, another side, into, heavy,
the birds are feathers.

yet so dependant, they flicker,
which empty space forms the firmest corner.

facades that lazily try to cover a history

but it was a delicious voice, a voice like tulips.
a voice like a loaded gun.

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