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##¶§§%:~,¨ i follow the tire tracks west. they go ¨,~:%§§¶##
##¶§§%:~,¨ parallel with the railroad, with its ¨,~:%§§¶##
§§§%~~,¨¨¨ endless mirrors looking kinda oily. an ¨¨¨,~~%§§§
##¶§§%:~,¨ incredible power bound there... there's ¨,~:%§§¶##
###§§%:~,¨ a wire fence to separate the two roads. ¨,~:%§§###
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§§:,¨¨¨¨¨¨ even though there's a foggy quality to ¨¨¨¨¨¨,:§§
¶§§§:,¨¨¨¨ the air, the path i follow is glowing. ¨¨¨¨,:§§§¶
§§%~~,¨¨¨¨ a yellow-green moss has taken hold ¨¨¨¨,~~%§§
¶§%~~,,,,¨ where the machines who made these ¨,,,,~~%§¶
§%%~¨¨¨¨¨¨ tracks once disturbed the clover field. ¨¨¨¨¨¨~%%§
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##¶§§%:~,¨ we're off the season when the birds ¨,~:%§§¶##
###¶§%:~,¨ sing beautifully. these days it's just ¨,~:%§¶###
§§§:,¨¨¨¨¨ screeches, or calls for help. ¨¨¨¨¨,:§§§
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##¶§§%:~,¨ i think of the jackdaw i maimed ¨,~:%§§¶##
##¶§§%:~,¨ yesterday. i fear the dreaming gate. ¨,~:%§§¶##
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