#1 synth

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Sunday, May 10, 2009

we have coal.

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On my back on a blue plastic mattress
Skin sticking to the night
Outside the air is spinning
And the trees are breaking down
Like a cracking carborator
My lips sputter and squirm
Under the pressure of the moon
Pushing in and out my lungs and heart
Move separately and grind
Until the morning bird sings the first note
And my insides are a diamond.

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