World of Floods Driving on the curb cured of swamplands and horizontals my atmosphere dear takes wholesome bites of water outed are the undersides of bridge smudged chasms birdy hellcalls and undone song he knows only fire pursues the winged torn letters three years gone of the antediluvian disintegrated into charm and clarity and the promise of a moment in time that springs everlastingly will be flooded and the pulmonary one ways dripping varied shades of moving cars in fresh killed greys keeping time with the hacks of self against love while our hands are crossed in universes pleading with“Megan Towey”

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