Dear poets. The heart has been a bird far too many times to count. It has also been a mammal, furtive and rustling in the white bone cage of the ribs. It has been every type of metal, and several different musical instruments. It has been played. It has shuddered and limped and whined with a sentient voice. Please, fixate on a new organ.
Lucia Perillo already did the spleen, though.
Sunday, October 3, 2010
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