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Chunks of meat
Extruded from our arms and legs
Plow it into the soil
Like a new kind of poetry
Cranberries are said to grow in mid-air
But when we look there, all we see is a myopic dog
It’s hard to take it seriously
It’s hard to wake up dead at the fair
While others ride the thing that makes you vomit,
You will be no more
Trying to debate your way out of it
Will not matter
No one is willing to listen
So you just have to drop your wallet on the ground
And prepare for the apocalypse

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Wheelchair Full of Old Men Michigan

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