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Like smithereens in cahoots, Tensed flames swept and did brood. Leaves strange stood Legs curled – proper nude. Skin sore of whips Traced on veins by the fire’s teeth. Root rustic rhyme, Though irregular, the branches would comply. Tilting crack-dance, The earth received the soothing lance. Imprisoned in ditto jive, Oaks, Figs, gave tries. AndContinueContinue reading “Scared Twigs Twisted”