Shine

Shine Front porch traveler. Back door man. Moonshine still. Still a front porch traveler. Still a back door man. Still moonshine. Albert tobacco smoker. Hickory horned devil. The moon shines still. Still an Albert tobacco smoker. Still a hickory horned devil. Still, the moon shines.   This is official Project Astral poetry -Raphael Baldaya Shine

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Tea Cups in Outer Space

I found a memory underneath a piece of wallpaper; it peeled into a capability of everlasting motion.
Cornerstone brow, ships clasp, stutters mountain… Lands.
Backdrop, vacant patterns.
No, the substance isn’t in that formation or the fertility of the ghouls.
Tear the cloth — induced love picked a corner to turn into a fairy tale.

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