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frightened we may lose ourselves further we escape from one entropical island to the next never further washed away from the explosive solitude of our beginning battered between cobalt seas of legitimate names we grow interested in cramped spaces in secret, wincing at unclear images of a self through corrugated glass frosted over, lest we are caught and broken, we hold an empty history to our breast, like water spat out of salt, a thirst that keeps us searching through arterial dust

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