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One probably hears about it.One, wire, recognizes.One holds her bones up next to each other.One insists, grinding the clutch.One would powder and powder.One would ask out of the back of the throat.One refuses.One is so sad.One is helpful all of a sudden.One turns.One shimmers; hiccups.One puts on a tie and keeps finding a place for his hands.One breathes the old purple.One nods because no one speaks loud enough anymore.One doesn’t approve, but trusts.One is so sure.
