

Mossy Moss.
the bricks, the pavement, nothing to me mean while i internalize a mossy scene so clad with fungi, gentle and discreet at willow bases -- not on busy street or sewer drain. the new brain has took intelligence, and then destroyed the book from which it came, and claimed it as its own creation. what could common folk have known of this disaster, cozy in their beds while televisions climbed into their heads with spades and barrows, dug a nasty hole, commercials then replaced a pulsing soul, now dead. so here i celebrate the truth, remove societ
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