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Rated: ASR · Poetry · Arts · #2218634
April 10 Entry. GloPoWriMo 2020. (A cut-up.)
The luminosity lasted for hours.
Spattered remains of the vanguards beckoned.
Why can't somebody take them all away?
I like them depraved and dominating.

Sharon Finlay, an aspiring actress,
bound in tight rope, she pretended to die.
They freed the scene and teamed with her green genes.
Glacial pits of pain split from the land.

They rowed, rowed, and rowed through the icy depths,
as dirty-faced clowns, and black-eyed angels,
feasted on saccharine beetle marrow,
though, they needed the black-handled cleaver.

People hated those odorous ingrates.
Like cobwebs, their metallic glow spread wide.
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