Matt.


Note-bookI sat in a mortified sombridge A green malaise washedNote-book
My pen over the spare sheets
She kept for a
Post opus change.
She made working peddles
From a blotted machine
attached string, gears, hammers
Doorbells and
Half a Philippina
Trumpet to the dying
Sow.
She screamed morose Apogees through
A snoutfull of slop
To the hundred and fourth division Of the Neptune sector.
Her Space Camp halted
Stampedes of ignorant
Mollities, but failed
To remove the legions.
Now
see ya
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interested in my gallery ? [link]
I'm glad you liked my work.
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This is who I am
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Do I have a deviation of a fetal yam? Check it out. ~petrifiedphish
i love you
put more photography up damnit
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~*~ Mallows will fly.~*~
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RAFFLES BIZARRE
MISI
MYSPACE
BLOGSPOT
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Take a look at [link] also ...
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Check out my BRUSHES!
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