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Hitchport II Sometimes I see a word on a pillow as if I'm awake in it, its owning grace quickened without backstroking on others' words. Those Of others. Of yours. Of you. That's a word. Yet how to deliberate on rhyme with sea twins holding off tears. Don't know. Together, unconditional joy would be an honor riding on back Of vocal emotion, can't you forget? And remember, no swimming alone, asleep at nine... unless sometimes breaking sweat against that desert shame's bravado disappears, launching a franchise, closing up beyond life.
Jack Kimball Index