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Folded Talisman
Every synapse has been lit.
Green and ripened, here, forthwith
and momentary in shape;
I wish not to mend this ache.
You, over they, suggested
by algorithms wasted
on the loneliest alive.
Every synapse has been lit.
Green and ripened, here, forthwith
and momentary in shape;
I wish not to mend this ache.
You, over they, suggested
by algorithms wasted
on the loneliest alive.
