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FLYOVER These flatlands float murky as negatives. So much hasn’t been exposed: sun cindering each night in alkali dirt, darknesses asleep inside white cows. No one notices where stones, huge as houses, bust topsoil, bald rock ledges. In their keyless, windowless rooms fossil fish still swim in mineral. Above, ditch blooms swarm the open road. Frogs hop the gravel where a car drove by, their eyes wide and itching in the dust.  ...

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