can we all take a leaf from the demolished artist's book?
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I stole a book that told me about the other stolen books but they had lost their way... I know a few still hang in trees some even wait by the seaside for clouds to bring a rain of words & the wind to caress the last leaves they were tired of holding on to & perhaps the morning says I am tired of this life of crime the birds were hard awake where I lost my youth.
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