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uproariously disappointing

i've been pulling this long red thread — the needle so gently — gently? fed through the baked husk of homemade bread from the eye in the head of my giraffe so you can laugh, but the summer's warm, dry breath bests the summer's grass — that is how i feel about breasts. i've dashed through the legs of the most handsome of all illusions, i've danced hand-in-hand with every last handyman to come to this conclusion:

Joseph M. Gerace

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