i want to make my mind a map
hear the places
you can no longer find
here all the residual
liner notes
etched trees
never bear fruit
their seasonal whispers
an adding machine
how products
turn into things
they were always before always
when the bulbed light
exploded over and over
hiding in all the places
the drawn up trees made
only so much silver
out of paper paper paper
their lining was safe
i can not repeat
where you no longer find me
and here are all the fruits
borne of etchery
fruit trees made pap
but their whispers in ways
--it kills you to eat
products turning into the things they were
i want to make a machine
adding up all the dates
i cannot repeat
only so much silver lining is safe.
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