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Aide Vitale By: Gene Santos on 3/13/2004; 8:13 AM a feast,a fair,of all that's gone sour we clench our fists to strike everything putrid for everything left tangible by time and papers for transaction in reserved seat of disease... and we'd dare stay... in these trinkets of unholy yesterday... scripted and predestined life cinema better to burn the strips now than watch redundancy taking its place over history that it could never be placed... curtains call for a final resort... and the minds cram for what they are to make things feasible... it's the turn of the ashpalt,when it would bleed to speak for an ever repeating path of the drifter it would all be less than much they call for a square,with nothing to bare... bask at these... ephemeral... dellusions...
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