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The granite woman and the putty man stood over him with his legs apart with an axe
New Orleans was crushed and broken by those tell-tale traces
our shuddering limo in the ear of the dead one
the bones in a clean white cloth with red soil
banana leviathan punches on the radio to paint flowers on the tombs
the power of the black hand will paint the sacred cities back to life
the pebbled banks, the brilliant bolts await the pyramid; the mother of blue water