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Polyurethane (Free verse) by Fear of Garbage
Decompression sickness. For all I've given you, you get nothing. Obviously, you are a lattice and a spine and a deconstruction of my thoughts. Go for it. Run. Take it. Palpably, you are a man on fire, and then a woman sobbing, she doesn't know how to sit or lie down. For all I give you, you give nothing back. Little boy, black background. Eyes like sad trees how sorry am I? Have I broken your heart yet? Pity me pity me pity me please decompression, money, airbag, scrapbook faster faster faster and initial. And you boast by giving me nothing. I am so worried I cannot sit down. faint, compact, crimson me up, lather me down. I am so clean you will not let me sit down! How sick/sorry/sad am I? What is my prize? I am owed. I am owed. So take me, mold me, make me, sell me, I will not complain. Let me be the hand that blots the blood.

Down the ladder: Pumpkin Bowling

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Arithmetic Mean: 7.125
Weighted score: 5.5715003
Overall Rank: 2418
Posted: June 2, 2003 1:53 PM PDT; Last modified: June 2, 2003 1:53 PM PDT
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Comments:
[10] Bachus @ 24.126.113.154 | 2-Jun-03/2:46 PM | Reply
Bacchian swagger award. Stunning gripping and all that other critic jargon.
[9] jessicazee @ 205.188.209.7 | 23-Jul-03/3:10 PM | Reply
"money, airbag, scrapbook" okay! I likey. Not sure of the "sick/sorry/sad"...seems like the slashes break it weirdly. 9
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