December 8, 2010
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Down the street's the
Cloud factory.
Manufactured puffs of white and black;
The Refinery.
Another city over's the
Bigger factory.
The clouds are joined by the smoky
new recruits.
The flame is forever the knife
To the throat of the sky,
And we don't hear what's whispered.
We just see the puffs march out
of their tunnels of black.

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