 clouds
peak
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Bernard de Coen
fourth of january christmas candles in the bar their tow is still white on his computer
not one message today he reboots the thing one night's snow works for the quadruped burglar as detective powder while the cd plays
with its box he wipes the snow from his windshield the treeless plain – on a path a dog pisses in the air between her bosom
suffocates the golden cross from her necklace |