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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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