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February 13, 2012
She comes in the gown of a disowned dream dissembling structures of flesh and sentience as to the logical semblance of words we fall within for salve and balm earning the disrepute of the unearned soul left for imagination and fictional renderings without the gears meshing, without the energy flows merging, without surges through and through the flexing might of the omniprescient ocean of light we own yet gown in gossamer darkness begging after the sidewalk seer to buy the way back, lining the seers' cornea with anticipations of higher fees, and so to the grave we ineluctably, ceremoniously flee.