writing is a swordfish desperate for catch and release
its rostrum dipped in ink not mightier than but equal to college drowning in small pools filled with shimmering fry searching for open oceans from which to speak and stand on ecstasy at Coachella with thirsty holograms swimming through smoke and sweat like Pac twelve years dead and gone and live on stage waiting for the next universe
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TWITTER:ARCHIVES:
March 2022
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