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this too shall pass their words are deficient, quickly undressed filling green bottles with semantics they tidy the room, sighing with triviality the sky outside is sagging impending fall as they throw stones, pressing on they wear the cold armor of disquiet

impetus is an unsympathetic revolver as scrutiny merges with notarized papers they ignore heavy steps behind the front door


SPIRACLE JOURNAL Volume I Issue No. 1  

Re. In. Vent.