I walk with my sister and we are young
And her knees are less broken; they swallow
petrel calls and soon we are
equivalent. I call these my oceans. I
shriek with my sister, we wished the
evenings would take our wolf-like sounds
and make us un-speeched.
We are straight and know the meaning of
artificiality. It is this:
jingoism, pesticide,
beaches...
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