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thispoetisafake inthemudiwasformed, inthedark,notApollo'sbud, butPrometheanbonetherock beforethefleshmadewhole exploringeventsthatoccurred, colouringthemwiththehurt thatwasorwasnot andthussharedamongstusall andintheshadowsmythoughts congeal,drawclose,fearful; gainascendancythroughdealing insoundsandlies isaynothingfactual howelsetocometotruth?

thepathismadewithpebbles ofindiscriminatememorymergedwithfalsehood allprophets,allpoets, allwhotellstoriesabouttheirlives, findtherightwaytoexplainthemselvesbymixingfact andfictionandpronouncingtheminthelight mother,thesewordsarenotfromyourhand, notfromthetruthofourlives,rather,ifindthem inthewrinkles,inthehistoryofallthethings weneversaidorneverheard andihopeiffatherturnsinhisgrave itisonlythebettertolisten tothethings hissonhastosay thesonwhohasfound thebestwaytowipeawayclay isbytellingstories ofhowitmighthavebeen thisheartisonatrainride tounderstanding, ittellsoffalsepaintoexplain howitbecamehuman

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