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October's Little Miseries

Rating: 2.7
Every October I start to get upset.
The factories' hundred throats blow smoke to the sky.
The pullets are getting fat
for Christmas Day.

So I'll bray at our bleached and atrophied souls
and melt a thousand icebergs over the old scrolls,
the frightened mysticisms
of religions.
Find a decent spirit? Pretty hard.
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5/11/2021 9:39:44 AM # 1.0.0.577