

scissorlipscissorlipped lovers look toward the news and ‘what if i blew it off right on thescissorlip
station in front of the
world I say ‘hey look at me, another fucking tragedy’” but no poet knows news or which hemisphere or
the temperature up in the hills of greece. “in fact, what is the capital anyway there? only ithaca knows where the Asphodel grows and forgets none but the weary kleos of its own.” and the rhapsode clucks like its gray-green fate because no poet knows any news (as of late)
sorry iam a random person
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