del sagrado corozon

Pulley is rhyme that accretes like slough carries me off   toes sunk in at edge where sand makes mud   and up, it comes the plank piratical up to nose and noose   lusts for breaking things battered and loose.   The hidebound, holy wounded   ancient hinge — dead ends in stacks and stacks   del sagrado corozon  horror and stern like an iron mask.   Morning light releases a refugee   blows like a fire eater into the overbright.   Hostages provocateur infiltrate, as incoming   treachur-ly empaths, stalk the undone.   As madness – a money dread…

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“word-storming in the name of beauty”

processes of compiling