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The strange water
dripping over mud,
my family sick of the
sounds it makes, until
rocks come from the ground
blooming out of skulls of
giants, sisters waiting
at the farm, Gouda going east,
queued for tomorrow, threatening violence
to freeze manual things and
brush strokes breathing out geometry
from cement canals. Dark
blood and red lights, tomorrow is
another sun bleeding into
another west.

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