The sun’s risenabove its curtain,painting widethe earth’s fleshwith a blinding displayof white-out. To mute our rebirthedchorus of cries,we must lookwithout looking ahead. We must break,without breaking bread. It doesn’t sustainour malnourished minds. We’re asking for dropsfor an emptied ocean. We’re seasonalfor how we fall. We’re fatalfor staying still. A hush without a vowdrives us into…

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