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Post by petra6 on Dec 23, 2021 17:37:18 GMT -5
Where was i? Up in the corner of the attic, by the high green mountains, where trout hide in the cracks and seams, Covering themselves in cool lively water.
I was at the breakfast table of salty ham and coddled eggs, Black toast scraped white, and smeared with butter. Milk with the cream stirred down, served in a jelly jar, juice in a jelly jar. Gram took her shots in the thigh.
In a church, large and cold, Eating Christ for the first time. Lost in the thought of that, so struck that i have never recovered.
I was i a parade in a small town, some miles from here, blowing spit through a baritone. I remember flowers, their smell, and wondering why they put the
the horses ahead of the marching band., I had been drinking.
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Post by agrimmeer on Dec 31, 2021 17:00:12 GMT -5
On a trod, either your interregnum or mine, I wave; not expecting a break in your beat.
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