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The Pen is Mightier than the Sword

#73


Mira

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Wet strikes the world on the ground of itself, splattering, spraying soft

Tissue and juice in a fountain, then slithering down to a rounded heap.

Teeth are not necessary. All that have mouths now may exercise gluttony,

Up from below, or inside chewing out, wounded world of the loam cast out.

Flesh is still ripe when deformed by its violent gravity. Let them eat.

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