Barren of thoughts with my pen with a fuddle of the time, and no ghost to shutter the winds, leaving in caravans. As my ink has gone to dust with the way of my mind, and seance with the tarot, in conversation with my muse. With my muse snuggled against me thoughts wander with the fuddle of time, my pen lays silently collecting dust, as I explore the musk of my muse. With a fuddle of the
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