The windows

Shard of glass worked it’s way out in a dream. And then in real life. Cousin manages a mantra driven repetitive line that removes the stain of the curse. Broken glass everywhere, Shattered by years ago bombs. Reverb, silently muffled dud. Smell of the old school halls in distant immediacy. What am I doing this for? Be yourself. Some of the things he said. She’ll ride through the passage to the western door transposed into a gymnasium.

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