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March 1, 2013
My words are the muscular gestures of a soul seething in its tiny frenzy wanting to eat the universe in several bites, wanting to consume the heaven of all hells, needing to find the ceiling of eternity, to touch the bottom of evil and kiss the top of good, to find the threads of your soul that keep the harmony of my eyes riddled with splintered light and mangled lust, what kaleidoscope divination divines when your skin burns mine by the fevers fumbling for exhalation taking in the boiling of our souls to cook our inhibitions like so many oysters.