They are jailing the terrorists and straining to see
God among the trees
They are throwing stones at the bricks
and bricks at the stones
Mud at the dirt and dirt at the mud
spitting through their teeth.
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Soaking up the rain and whipping spit of the waves, as he stood next to the ocean of my memory, a fire hydrant in a red windbreaker, glaring...
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"Well...that was dramatic." I didn't know what he meant until I saw the ink spilled everywhere and the moths in her hair like ...