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74 In Waking: Summer next to you without knowing I was happy— without knowing wreckage and plunder from the night before, yet more than a breeze (summer) coming at me, more like a firestorm of goodness from you— (not the cheap 5&10¢ goodness) The kind that glitters like pyrite/then runs deep through yesterday and into mud/through the blood of ancestors not met, all the lies told for no good reason then running through to the other side of time—that kind of good that comes through you—straight at me, in summer: waking. ...

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