|I see you, inspector. Like your eyes had work now done.
Like fake fathers. Like Xavier. That were never meant to be.
There is one up here. Where somehow the glass got broken.
Not by chance, you could become accustomed to me.
|At issue an issue is the cause of itself.
I will not let me speak the word friends.
Like richness defined by unspoken wealths.
Let us talk of the morning wrens.
The poem that wins your vote migrates up a Ladder in rank one step.
The poem that looses your vote migrates down a Ladder in rank one step.
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home = www.epicdewfall.ca