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The others died, the luck of it blurting through them. I could not, I was a silly broken umbrella...
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Now they are together like strangers in a two-seater outhouse, eating and squatting together.
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never again would she lose her ball, that moon, that Krishna hair, that blind poppy, that innocent globe, that madonna womb.
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But I died yesterday, 'Daddy,' I died,...
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Maybe, although my heart is a kitten of butter, I am blowing it up like a zeppelin.
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