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18 Empire #2 Poet I wonder what he recited: metal on metal, glass shattering, circuits blowing, the hiss of grease, coolant geyser? If my brother’s lip split like a cherry or gave like cloth as his head hit the controls, if he recited fruit and blood at the same time, feared the oncoming lights as much as the interrogator’s invectives. If momentarily he felt seconds tingle, hands reading feathers, his chest a library, night air scrawled with citrus as they lifted him not gently onto the page. If he imagined we knew nothing as we looked up at the stars, dreaming ourselves among them. ...

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