Mumbling in a Hole: a Chapbook by John M. Bennett |
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I lake I was plunging you were napping I was drying you were floating I was heaping you were scowling I was bleating you were nopeing I was shingling you were climbing crust why heaving lung haul your limpid door blood your fulsome shade rabbit your steeply bile stammer your nodded log rinsing your cutting leg rattle dust why streaming so you aiming for the fluid half the neck strummer lamp I crusted up the business we were polished like an engine thinking in the lake
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