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SEASON ONE /
                        EPISODE FOUR












A poem for the lost nerve ends our collective solar plexus.

Can you feel, a little bit tight
It’s little bit pain
Full of Home
ric chest
Hair brush
It off, it’s just not worth
It. Not worth it
To continue at all or in this fashi
On the back of many an other
Heir brush has been packed away, ready to fly. It’s h
Act away in case
By case
Base is touched and would like to be touched again, it says.
Wrap it up or I conclude
Consequence says.
(It calls, actually. It scream-shouts)
In any case. WE WILL SHIFT OUR PRETTY STANDARDS
Keep your long threads tangled.

Chest out, until the buzz of archery g
Litter ruptures your s
Kin shipped out to find greener shores.

Good luck.
I am not cynical.
Good luck.

If we were to SHAVE OFF all we’ve got and {if we were}
To felt it up into a safety
Blank
Stair
Case by case basis as follows:
You follow me. You stay down here. You, too. You follow. The rest stay down. You up here, go back down.
You, I’ll push you as she types. As I read.

Wrap us up, gazing star offenders.
A worm we’ll crawl down into whatever doom you’ve got for us.

L.I.F.E.


I spell it out.
You write it off
sure and un shore.