a swag of rejections come in the mail the obviousness the lack the de excitement predicted by my own childish hand the same lines or crooked worm trails bringing back the teachers last gasp at eras other non temporal spaces like a poor pen grip despite real promise gosh will sentences ever come back to haunt me picture it me lying nearly awake or asleep me slowly sensing the movement around a quaint corner of vision chambered movied music prophesising tone me uncharacteristically wearing a sheer chemise & egad growing those appled breasts my avatar mentions the very picture of mincing irony just one situation placing me as nicole kidman suitably stupidly stunned that the people would haunt me / her & two settings or contexts forging things as mutable possible wonderful delectable doable full say of course that swag of rejections all fervently print based feigns to avoid the patronising nod & spurns this instead a friday the tired feeling of voilet needles the soaking rain even laymen pray for & a bite to eat almost as good as a bite taken from nicole’s dog it is sad but with the scared look sure to often appear on my face as i sleep i mean what’s to come…

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