Chewer of pencils,
eraser lips lead the tongu’d
window sill’s saurus
to backyard hedges,
the low starglow, as buoy
bluest memory,
accedes a friendship
to lonelier argosies
of the dear land’s pens
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ayaladn 
Feels like Byron downing in some Geccian surf. That was before water wings, but now he has his wings, but still had to keep the club foot.>KB
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Brief history of time. I know this voice…are you held hostage somewhere?
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