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Minsk
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The Time Ek Stasis
Whispered words. these walls breathe the inanity of accusation And a moment of gifting passes through what once was identity So that its dispersement surpasses even reciprocity in a movement Beyond truth and falsity while well worn pillars of objectivity Collapse as if blown asunder by the blameless pawns of poets Ecstatically exhuming treasures of forgotten grace.
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