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[ “We’re not there yet=text unavailable/What were you thinking?? Crouched in stubbed straw in the high sun holding a screen to your lips saying ‘I won’t go back, I won’t do it.’”]

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You walk into the rows of crops and sink your hands into the soil.
You scale a fence and crouch. Machinery, long gone men.
You walk out of this body of yours.
You weave a line in your sleep from one side of the valley to the other.
You meet a helicopter flying low and landing in its hurricane. Run.
You watch figures emerge from its belly to meet you, shouts under chaos, orgasmic, a basic desire.

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Somewhere, the hole gets bigger. Then, you disappear.

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A. Half a picture, god only knows: letters labelled “PURGATORY”.

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