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Bacchanalian Festival

THE doors are open
the lights are on
come on in, its time for our -bacchanalian festival
the smell of pot
the smell of alcohol
the smell of sex
the smell of anger
the smell of fear
welcome my friend or enemy to my -bacchanalian festival
where all your perversons are welcome and best of all

every one is doing it.
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COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Goldy Locks 27 April 2007

I have a handful of bliss, what do i do with it? I had a handful of bliss, what did i do with it.

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