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Textures of shame

Glass sides tip away the hope of perception and cameras flash away any hint of reflection
at this hub of metal minds and stiff bodies.


This soft grey raven digs for existence among the steel nest of discardment.
Every sip a taste of us, our residue his everything.

Around me, gold fingered bird-watchers with their fogged up binoculors,
tasting their uncessary glory.
Molten pride down th...

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