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| one hole filled another is the horizon a breast pocket near little miles away tears so close it stings a hole need fill a stolen shiny my heart music is important sunrises/sets eggs on a platter going back to mother and womb one day out of many to sing and dance for color full tracks moving under trains all thunder of drum skin hit and hit and strummed like morning beams that ink into the world while this man wastes time all day |
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