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Postmodern Village
est. 1999
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there is beauty in the room
by Francine DuBois

"and she moves in it like the night, i suppose." she rolls her eyes. this is why she stopped dating "poets," you know, the ones who insist on rhyming every line all the time with a skill so fine as they wine and dine her, oh so divine!

she is not happy and she just can't decide which dead white guy to blame.

while he is pawing at her breasts, she decides tennyson is to blame. damn him.

she is still not happy.

Francine's Version -- Hezekiah's Version -- Inspiration
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