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They sit, they create, they watch.
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My ex-girlfriends live in a pastel-drenched cabin on the edge of a hemlock forest in Canada somewhere,
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You have arrived at the river, numb with the murmur of the city and the sleeplessness of anger, boredom, and too many people loving too many people too much. The heat in this night, not the moon as in ancient poems, is blazing; the moon is pink like the…
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