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186 B A S E M E N T S O N G Out of the deep I dreamt the mother. How deep the mother deep the basement the body, odor of laundry the soul of a bug. The grass inside the song stains me. The mother stains me. That was the year they cut my throat and toads bloomed on my voice box. I have kept my head up. 187 Have kept myself out of trouble but deep is trouble deep is mother. Deep the song inside summer. Did I tell you it hurt accepting air in a new body? And since the change the air burns. ...

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