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[43] r e M i n i S C i n G S K y rO S Under the couch cushion i find a tangle of octopuses, olive groves salting in the wind, hera grooming the northern crags and vineyards from Zeus’s beard, a slight drizzle of Mediterranean blue that could upset the rest of my afternoon. There goes a fishing boat; there goes sunlight dusting the worn path; there goes my wasted life, my decrepit mule. ...

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