before the fire— in love with the world and all its possibilities waiting for the falling knife— he’s already dead interlocked now and then, here and there all the possibilities wrapped in the palm of a hands eating itself the serpent awaits the world’s destruction …
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always ending up with fate while looking in the wrong direction he drinks from the cup and squanders all his coin running away a fool to fate— born and reborn by wand or sword— sometimes by magic and sometimes by force she finds a way …
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