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(talking with friends about whether “art” “mirrors” “nature”) ———————————— The Corcovado These lines settle like the flakes of some mineral. One stone god hangs above Rio to forgive it; we assumed we’d get wiser when confronted with him. I put my face on his alleged leg while visitors looked at the view and I heard the crystals move. Being a citizen is like being one of his mosaic pieces, your parents can’t always help while the ruins assemble you; I stood there while the non-suicide leaders developed the fifties falling in love with the boy god because the particles of quartz were trapped in him, the lyric moment a trillion times of being helped by specific sand in his blind stone robe. Intuition tells you to store things as your salvation. When there’s no mirror, the dark becomes loved. 106 ...

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