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Alive again

Walking red earth woman, I drink your liquid motion, my soul that shitty, sandy kind of soil, not good for growing anything and I feel your tiniest trembles like wrecking, tearing, blasphemous rages, traveling easily through the big, dry, airy spaces in-between the uneven, untruthful clods of dirt that they call "that one", while crash, bang, Whip! our magnetic poles are left shining in the watery wind and damned if I'm not whole again.

Thank you.