Heaves
Mistly men scream.
Thousands sleep
from life, never
recall red rain
sprays eat sky.
You watch through
mean purple light
raw, sweating shadow
suits with whys.
Some must meat
not sing,
mad in fiddle drive,
smelly, ugly heaves.
The Oracle speaks through magnet poetry.
Tao Talk 
Well I guess the Oracle wanted you to do the angry poem. Mine had spray and scream too. (K)
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K, this one wrote itself. We must have used the same set.
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