How experimental is the wet moon, how expansively laid before you, super-troubador! How like Lisa is the hour of the footprints of red steel left beside the Mekong River! Every friendly mountain is blushed with mushrooms on a blue night. Small, icy waterfall, the Yahwist rain, talk the cellos through the interiors of your golded poem. Brooks echoing primary colors, you stop on the shell light, the twisted conch. Strong dog, say goodbye to the evening, the warm hearts of mysticism and beef. Phillipines, vary your music, disregard these variations. Opinions will structure their own variations. These circles force truth.

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