The Trinity

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Today, what of it, that is left I brought you rocket, olives and bruschetta bread
For me the stage was set for resting amongst the noises feeding my head
Right amongst the section of architects stones stood such spitting scholar
Closed eyelids and puffy face while waiting to face heavens appeasement
The craft of which you speak hasn't levened cleavers leaving me dead and hollow.
My pedimental marble is cold and unfeeling framed against a rattling voice.
Fucking further than I forsaw from the distance of 5pm and 8pm.



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