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Crucified Seeds.

All of us: missionaries
from dead worlds, immigrants
from across the border
operating undercover.

Unconscious, subliminal
cross-contamination
woven into the fabric
of every culture.

Seeds are the bees
carrying pollen
from one planetary flower
to a-fucking-nother.
We are their means

of reproduction.
We are their sex.

Interplanetary,
interstellar spit
and swallow:

we are the cosmic orgy,
resulting lovechild,

so fuck you.
We can take it. Take 
anything. We always
have, always will.

We will survive.

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