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The Pacifist A crane brings down the white upon the rails. I dream of the Pacific. An illustrated marine life lies on my lap. An armless soldier in the facing seat watches me craning the white inside my trance. A five legged spider crawls at his good arm‘s end. The pacific heaves the white up. The giant turtles swim off the foam and slink into the magazine. The train runs late, halting before every pacifist crane.


SPIRACLE JOURNAL Volume I Issue No. 1  

Re. In. Vent.

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