Len Gurts Going Through It

O horror—you have gone!

I like the sound of this one.

I might be a David Lynch film.

I might link that with

cling film. Foil-wrapped madness.

Badass shot
of my safe body
absorbed in sun. A beam I’ve just done.

She’d love this one. I’ll now not sleep.

Rhythm gone. See. Her

that is, always.

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