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6 5 m ay m o o n A calm has split your panic, the halves fall away; over spikes of grass & vinegar shadows, the moon, mildly hopeful like a little Thursday. The once-humiliating gleam has gone; it expected too much from the tired faces. Now the crafty calm can work not as thing, as a vowel that might continue— m ay m o o n O·cer, i was speeding because light sped like crushed bits of God seeking more energy i understand the horse who broke her front legs trying to run i understand that horse all women understand her we all understand that horse we all understand her all of us do ...

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