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| 62 The Third Miracle Casting, flaying, assuming and folding, he wears the stories of conquest on his neck, cuts and bruises healing to give him the courage to get out coughing, shaking and mistaking the curtain of treasures as his own— the two headed doll bleeding on the necklace, the healing sticks and the exploding blossoms, dried roses coming to life on his chest, adjusting to the turtle claws tied there, stiff spiders fossilized in his hair as he leans forward to enter the rocks, the taunting tails of iguanas choking him, weighing him down, keeping him close to the ground where water seeps and drinks him heaving, jolting, resisting, covering his blue body with the foam of riches, earth murmurs tugging at the string of snake rattles, broken mirrors, balls of poison from a Gila monster, the objects tied to his heart to keep him digging and groping, sending his legs under the heavy rock to pin him and make him a figure someone will dig up one day, shocked the living man is displaying what vanished when the dust storm never ended but turned white, its clouds covering the world because what hung on his neck, underground, never died. It revolved around his infinite heart. ...

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