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the days unlike no other are the only there are
do you hear that sound on the door?
the knocking of memory sounds distant
when placed along delicate gateways of
scented Saigon regrets
the smell of infamy mixes with a desire
to please a nation swimming within
purpose to undrown a homeland
secured by Black Jack and his
Crowning Royal
all around us lies and diamonds
the father, the son and his host
asleep in the womb of the larvae
on fire yet awaiting the knock
there’s no time to procrastinate
to devote oneself to wings
when the only requirement is one
solid tear
near the most sagacious edges
to break the monotony of internal
alpha beta bleeding