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In this era of brevity in this era of metal in this
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in summer I step outside
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all the time it travels
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I am not afraid … of rough spots … or lonely times … I don’t
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Press your knees against the mountain, or against
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Remembering glitter on the first river
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I open my mouth to the wind. The wind
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My story—hieroglyphics of scuff and blister.
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You want what runs out through a low visibility.
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My god, / in the dark his eyes burned so clear
