De Vieze Kleren Van De VrijMiBo
Spilt the skin of the tears, the days' terrible drain,
Lopped his partial, too partial ears at the throat,
Folded the paper hands and the paper heart, opened
His notebook to the old rose folded at the comma
And climbed to and clung to the stem a gesture
To empty his face of tempation, the tricks of the tree.
Prettig weekend. En be nice.
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