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R i c h a r d   J .   F l e m i n g




Today's a very private day. I have no real reason for being here, but there is nothing to keep me away. I consult a doctor to see if it's right for me. I have tremors all over, and am traumatized by hidden springs. I'm in a state of suspended animation, as the stars above go down in flames. I can correct this with a variety of garden semantics. I may be able to grow opposable thumbs, and learn to grasp an olive branch in a grove of shriveled trees. Only one to a customer, says the last angel standing, spreading wings like rattled paper.






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