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Father Time married Mother Nature this month, nearly eighty years ago.

Before that, they were engaged for thirteen years.
Five years from now, they’ll grow old and die together amidst spring storms.
Within one week they’ll loathe their other,
but three hours after they’ll wonder “Why hate my lover?”,
five minutes post Father Time will murder Mother Nature.
Thirty seconds prior Mother Nature murdered Father Time.

Humans murder love and love murder.
Porn and guns, baby.

Don’t call 801-351-3530, I don’t know them but they’re probably Mormon.
Don’t read them those lines, they’re probably Mormon.
Don’t tell your friends to call the same number, they’re probably Mormon.
Don’t blame me when they call the police, they’re probably Mormon.
Don’t ask me why, I’m no longer Mormon.

Telephone poetry or a harmless prank?
I’ll let the judge decide.