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Post by Dave Besseling on Nov 1, 2008 12:50:32 GMT -5
We preserve our martyred peacemakers like Spencer’s breaded chicken fingers.
Kill the scouts before the swarms arrive. Kill the body and the head will die.
We stare at the space between locked eyes. Never sure when chimera may spark a lie. Christ knows what else we might find.
The air itself as vacuous as the impasse between a silent god and an inquisitive mind.
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