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Poem Generation
Their healer of memory
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Just as I had thought I am sensual.
In the world to come he is poison-imbued.
Why indeed do I disintegrate?
Has the poison of understanding inside the rainbow accepted those lonely flowers?
For what reason are my comforting teachers unmade?
Why indeed do I flutter?
Rebecca Vixenflame
from http://www.jbrowse.com/cgi-bin/poem.cgi
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