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TIERGARTEN The heavy fleur of the cross-hairs came alive in an airshaft, where it could see well. That in Aleppo, once, a nation thrived unexhumed, en masse merely, the embracive shelter. The airshaft swallows fire. The airshaft is the faith, comely in the exhalation of so many who there unstrangled a cloud, the survivor exhumed by allwho died. The most beast is beast. Memory takes no refreshment but only a stubble through the massed stars whose constellations starved on peace. 12 ...

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