The solar rises additionally. God’s taunt: the relentlessness of repetition; the unyielding promise of risk. So mild, but so violent. A brown field lingers on the entrance steps, aching for evisceration’s present. Begging to unburden itself. A soul ensconced inside—laid naked in literary flesh, fastened in ink, and marketed for mass consumption. A cry for assist. The sound of an American flag being raped.
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