A river that pierces the westering sun, flowing with the intermingling smells of eggs and the corpses of mosquito wrigglers
Descending without fear, passing underneath guard rails, I seek out salty air and incense
The hairs on a thigh bright red with sunburn got scorched / “A heap of brainwashing was sorted out”
Saying that is simple / Are we merely going to wail / over this small freedom?
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