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Surfaces Bright meadows slobber warmth, vomit old talk, old berries, where we said: this is innocence. As a thug would say, this is romance. They suffer as any surface suffers, any surface— say your eyeball's mucky plane. It all hurts, shell, fiber dog-back where surface is all-sided. Why does it cry, the outside? It seems so urgent. Even the air repulses its own cathedral in tears. 39 Surfaces Bright meadows slobber warmth, vomit old talk, old berries, where we said: this is innocence. As a thug would say, this is romance. They suffer as any surface suffers, any surfacesay your eyeball's mucky plane. It all hurts, shell, fiber dog-back where surface is all-sided. Why does it cry, the outside? It seems so urgent. Even the air repulses its own cathedral in tears. 39 ...

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