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■ The oak
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- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 2005-01-30 | | we bow our heads lower our eyes touched by the saddest feeling. stare at me for a while with a glance from another season rainy and shiny like the sudden appearance of golden dust in your palm, know me once again,sent but not arrived, as some truth is polluted by experiences, hide me tonight and turn me in by dawn, fill in this unsigned form (as everything you haven't chosen is yours and the rest is chance) or tie down this poem and find a sea for it.
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