grace filled passion playing, soft tones, so silk-like, youthful hair, notes racing up and down like my finger on your back, endless transmissions we sometimes tune in with or tune out of.
it is a round, rich sound, echoing as you thump and listen, excited rhythmic, but mononuclear, attacking silent sitters, laid-back beatless boys.
poles in rows, planted stakes, planned designs in watery mud patties, already fallen. eye lensed, cleansed, and ready to rise up, champions of grief's gravity.
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