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PENCHANTS

The wind, rooster without a head. Dashes insanely Shaking the leaves, which tear away And follow wildly in a dark dismay.

"glo-po" 2001

Stomachs are for nothing When digestion ceases. Marble bread and marble butter Finally negate the gut's organic stutter.

"glo-po" 2001


Thoughts of a Sculptor's Soul I'm not afraid of terror I'm not afraid of grief The only thing that scares me Is lack of bas relief.

"glo-po" 2001

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