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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. ###§¤†;«,¨
¨¨¨,«†¤¤§# #§¤¤†«,¨¨¨
¨,«;†¤§### 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. ###§¤†;«,¨
¨,«;†¤§### ###§¤†;«,¨
¨,«;†¤§### we're off the season when the birds ###§¤†;«,¨
¨,«;†¤§### sing beautifully. these days it's just ###§¤†;«,¨
¨,«;†¤§### screeches, or calls for help. ###§¤†;«,¨
¨,«;†¤§### ###§¤†;«,¨
¨,«;†¤§### i think of the jackdaw i maimed ###§¤†;«,¨
¨,«;†¤§### yesterday. i fear the dreaming gate. ###§¤†;«,¨
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