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| well it's alright for grimm he's dead (he left me this) broken iron railings fractured windscreen and headlight glass a brown immobile stream escaped from eden and slyly (not) sleeping shadows colliding conspiring curtains of blue gas clouds drape the spaces between street lights each face that passes needs a mother underpasses are empty a tribal night taboo (there are no trolls) and sharp hair grows on the face of a 7 year old |  |
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