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By series: Bridge St  In Yr Ear  Ruthless Grip

Today at Eleven
Every arena organized so we kiss
under someone else’s sense
fury retreads. Poorly equipped for midwinter,
I want you never inside
the world’s blandest emerald scheme. Rocket
empty thoughts hound to love
the final rates possible, play with me
smeared all over the abyss
taking another job. Of all the slanderous
looking for people drifting apart,
we dropped the tank, the tangled furor
dog on the block. The scripts
come to my house and I’m killed
for a fun time deal. How many
crackpot laminated spinoffs
ramble the parkway? Lost a lot,
glad to be along, or picked at
soothing weaves in a small number
of insulated cases. The beacon sure lights
these small city no doubt sandbars.