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A jet of mere phantom

Is a brook, as the land around

Turns rocky and hollow.

Those airplane sounds

Are the drowning of bicyclists.

Leaping, a bridesmaid leaps.

You asked for my autobiography.

Imagine the greeny clicking sound

Of hummingbirds in a dry wood,

And there you’d have it.

Other birds Pour over the walls now.

I’d never suspected: every day,

Although the nation is done for, I find new flowers.

– Donald Revell

GO VOTE!!

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