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A LV E O L I Could be birds on branches clicking their hot-tailed haunches against bark your ear can’t avoid comparing to your under-deployed lung’s catch in the middle of every exhale while its liquid bubbles higher, the yellow casualties winning the war, pus filling to ear-level. Lying flat tips the vial beyond breath, the airline style U-pillow alone keeping you steep enough, it’s only pneumonia, not sleep. Could be bird’s wings stuck in the shell, could be a klaxon’s Very well. 83 ...

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