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Course in Empire This is devastation, this is a walk in the ruins where I would find you, my sun in the east, penetrating eye in a blinding dust cloud. (This is just a test.) I find — my sleek and evasive. Water-skin in the humidity. Forcefield of surface that calls no name. Saboteur-cry: Tentative notch in the condor project. Methinks I am no bigger than my head. Fish and frenzy in my old Buick, fins and free-spawning, I’ve come to the hush of Gothic cacti — candelabras gone wild. To this private ground. Rose in a time-lapsed nature film. (This is the countdown that never ends.) You think if nothing happens nothing is destroyed? Rub two together and look the other way: I’m detonation-sized in the horizon, a probability in space. A particle when you pay attention to me. Walking out of desert, dissipating in the atmosphere. The blue of my thinking broken through, alone is — nearer to thee. And farther, too. 11 ...

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