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from COOS & ONS:
Genesis of the Telephone I have to plan very far in advance before delivering a sentence The bones in my body are set aren’t ready for grandeur of phrase-- That is an order, no that is a confluence of letters A hot can in my chest again an Oregon trail-- I wear Sunday like a mission spread loose the word God blurted that night he confused his friends with the dead Cutting stars into piles-- triangles, bad directions |