Parading

Down Sally Cow Lane and Elsewhere

Smoke hangs over our little atmospheres.

The espresso of my conscience
The espresso of my conscience
The espresso of my conscience
collects in the tumult of the night air.
collects in the tumult of the night air.
You felt the heft of these wings, —Dylan Willoughby
You felt the heft of these wings,
—Dylan Willoughby

atoms

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