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understanding what it means to understand/ and then the light goes on, the arms go up/ go poets/ the poets are a football team/ they don’t play football very well/ but they can hide behind computers like it’s no one else’s business/ the pain in the throats of such insolvency is not unlike assassination/ their small skies shift/ and changing gears/ in time, what he will come to understand is that the sameness of that sky he’s reaching for cannot and will not break/

the great machines of death/ is addiction another drought of what; perhaps forgiveness/ in winter, we would skate with the black arms of brittle trees all night until the sun and her skies were grey like lead is just a womb of dead bent grass/

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