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Published on March 19, 2003

trip trip
one two
slow, man
stussy was a wide-eyed
band
red light/
green light
treetops:smoke
flares and a 
wing-ed
boots, boots
clasp clap your hands
its all surface, but
come get me outta here
escape flat,real ity
is a haze
id kill for another
cool sound bite
and
thats what its all about

Filed under: Poema

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