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stars echo into endless coffee cups,

empty mugs.  the cosmic entities are

shot out of toy guns, video manifestations

of liquid and

cotton. ink in our coffee

spells out the news, reporting on

a princess, standing on the edge of

stardust, on the edge of

the seasons.  she falls into

the summer, he rescues her in

the winter.  Printemps in the

morning and breakfast

at the end of the night.

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