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ON THE ROOTS WE STAND
In order to understand, dear child,
You must ignore the history of the crows.
For all crows past,
are like remembered rhymes,
like the milk of the dead
and the soap it churns.
Like roadside messiahs,
like arches in memory,
like slaves on the mend
that echo across the alphabet.
Ten million crows
marked
the end of all reason.
Their love, once crystallised
fed the hungry.
And obscured by velvet,
they slither like snakes.
Once held down, you will inherit the earth.
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