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Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 01-June 12:51:46 AEST | ||
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Array
(
[sid] => 172569
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => The Black Hole Mamba (p. VIII)
[time] => 2012-05-18 21:18:51
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => When will we take Heed of heathens Worshipping Their whiplash deities In corners of plum dried ants Only to be Whisked away In the swirling rust? Where will the land Become a wholeness of Jurisdiction? Do you know our loss of the day? Spending pennies Grows hard as this Copper illusion Churns the poor man's Bones Only to be overcome By dust A hand on the shoulder Pats us With a false courage Straining a scoured hawk language [comments] => 0 [counter] => 183 [topic] => 74 [informant] => Lee [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => surreal )
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