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Snippet
Step
out
the
front
door
like
a
ghost
into
the
fog
where
no
one
notices
the
contrast
of
white
on
white.
And
in
between
the
moon
and
you
the
angels
get
a
better
view
of
the
crumbling
difference
between
wrong
and
right.
I
walk
in
the
air
between
the
rain
through
myself
and
back
again.
Where?
I
don't
know.
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