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At first soul sounding silent depths of rage I am dead drunk along a dark line moving opposite the howl of four foot time moving not like flat red cloth on a river flooding to change the status quo moving only gently into phase still not alert, still undetected still moving only by stray heart pulses exceptionally strong moving suddenly by a once forgotten presence upwelling until I become a storm my soft song carrying me into bright windows of owls sounding silent depths of forage and I shooting past branches return to this place familiar though not entire
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