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Your giant feet don’t fit
on the mountains because
you had to drink that
god like potion. When the
arboreal angels began singing
icelandic songs and the humidity
and metabolic tea began to
leak into reality, you went to
the desert and then the tundra
and gathered all the teens
to raise their cups of
human kindness, full of
mythic oceans and lyric glaciers.
They poor everything into
an atom and then they split
the atom and then they give
the ground and the terrestrial
legions something crunching like
toxic ice.
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