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July 9, 2015
Ah, the breath that rises like a leavened dough in the musty heat, as fumes of its spum in the deep spattering gels boil off their moisture for tiny caverns in the deep dark blistering the meat, bubbling out its thick gore after pounding, grinding, rolling for the gabble off in dire distress till the oven's mouth widens and takes it in like a hungry lover slavering for the quiet roar inside the heat, inside the need, inside the welter with service given for emancipation; it is always like that, but never seen so, always seen as the unsound appetite.