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66 Ashes Tell me the pocketknife left over from a dream. Tell me about black bread, pork and beans, stains of cigarettes on your heavy mesh jersey. Tell me winter was anomaly, tell me moss and willow. Hip deep in the brook, stones are eggs you tell me this and then we lean into the dragon of play. Shadows tell me where catfish crawl. Jump you tell me by the mud where the wasp star digs. Tell me how to whittle sticks into what shapes I will. Tell me there are coals left for your lungs. The falls are too close, tell me louder the grass has not grown over your brown earth of eyes. Tell me out of the tunnels. Tell me the sun, the wax. Tell me again about the water. ...

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