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Here is where the willows blow.
Where the alpine sheaths melt the flames cool snow.
Where the monocles hang by the noose
and time is its own recluse. 

Clocks will stop to the bouncing wane,
vestals deep to the earthly pain.

Where a paradox can be bound in two-
where demons bathe in open view.
Where spewing lumens seize to be sewn
Kosative D. speaks the unknown.

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