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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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