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50 To wear the moment costumed in a feather’s present, its plumage consequence of scale’s event nailed on, spots swimming before its eyes is to be possessed by, mated to what mask we’ve made see and what it sees cast in the steps thrown on the ground: ourselves as messianic bird cult far behind the celled machines of our disappearance, sees us making up wings to save a bird among our species with sticks and wax a beg to be taught a dance back from over the edge of the end. ...

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