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|TITLE: Reeves De Charlesland||Dreamt:||On a Thursday 2004|
A tornado, a hill, rain, sands.
Rains and steady wins whipped dust into the air.
Not knowing if the cyclone were ten feet or
miles away one waits for that which might be the end.
(The same prayer I had rushed as cousin Larry
was showing his gun to Tommy.)
Elle est manquer à moi
tornados keep trying to kill me.
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