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Re: Quatrain Corner
the people of this town wilt in their unpaved streets of purity beneath the church of marble and stained glass that hides the sun around this time,
the frail remains of a hawk echoes back and forth between the saloons and clay fortresses that line these walls of fermament,
like a fibrous tumbleweed have i drifted here accumulating dust without a cause or knowledge of further destination,
and the sky turns red.
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