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Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 29-May 16:09:53 AEST | ||
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Array
(
[sid] => 136818
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Cracks (1 out of 23)
[time] => 2007-08-18 15:06:01
[hometext] => Answers out of the monstrous sediments.
[bodytext] => I shot the zombie--I thought--would kill me, instead, he stumbled out to the Grand Strand Streets and was crushed by falling boulders. Before I got away, he reanimated his mastication hole and told me those damn quails; big mouthed beakers, drop sedimentary bombs to the infected streets: the leagued justice for the head-shot dead. They were the cause of noise pollution, smashed highways, unsafe monorails, trolley cars slanted sideways; these beakers were grandly divided as the heroic desolators-- like such a word exists-- and the destructive guardians. He said, before I brained him, that he would rather be a contradiction than live under rubble pressure. [comments] => 0 [counter] => 170 [topic] => 73 [informant] => skyhawk432 [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => abstract )
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