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Sketch

Article Title

Eyes

Document Type

Fiction

Abstract

Vacant Cloudstrips stretching nowhere basking in patterned rings of blue. I look and see not two not three or four but an epoch of lives lost man who will make it to the sun? Softly I listen to the countless jargon of morning birds crying who has touched the sun? Who has felt the burn of madness scorch his yearning brow?...

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