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Stake it down tight, we could be in for another blow

The right lubricant can see unease creep across the system. The dusts lift in the grates to gyrate their loops to dance in a breath. It's not thawed too long for to run. Jim rests a warm & weighty hand upon already sagging shoulders. What's left casts a shadow flushed with opacity. There's diamond pin-pricks bright & beautiful behinds the mountains that, though cast no light, vibrate visceral shudders throughout and beyond the framework. I've images to render, imaginings to surrender to so again there'll be little rest this eve nor incoming tidal cycles. No feet so fast to outrun the springing thus relapse, relax, to be awashed & consumed is the id becoming. No light at the end of the tunnel. The potential singularity of luminescence beholds as much reality as the tunnel itself.

Wombat Dreaming

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