POETRY
Adam Michniewicz temporality so hard to believe in you covered with a spider's web gown lured by a dead lover cursed you and the children of yours the laundry did not dry properly cross the corridor with Mars on your face come on and show me nally what real life looks like with these spontaneous dances with glazed eyes in a sense of rhythm in agreement of souls in the name of all unread books for an unhealed scar I shall know it was worth it
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