:Season of the Astronaut
-declared to nourish the itch in the smooth folds of my tendons. it's the same every summer's end. the world becomes beautiful, quiet, young and old. cold. so much. unbearingly so! i itch. when i'm calm, i'd like to (to be sure, the only thing i can ever dream to) wait and watch, send breaths of cigarette smoke, pushing and
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