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Crucified Seeds.

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

Unconscious, subliminal
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.

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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