By Ivor Griffiths
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echoes ringing a buzzing silence fills my head, with sentimental dog toothed frayed disguises, while fire and oil elemental magnetic tapes stuck on pause perform dreams of glory in a Plaides star rain acid inspired sounds above. Arterial shrouds should electrify but paralysed half my face cold and numb, dribbling and twitching hurry along the curdlers space I've been lying here in a coma since 1964 please open the dead bolt door make ringing empty silence real.
Ivor Griffiths 2005
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