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Nausica. The daughter of a king. Dreams of the pulse of a beating moth. Dreaming of dolphins leaping and turquoise tiles. Nausica earnest as Odysseus tells his stories: How swords gashed echoes from the sky, How heroes clashed, and one narneked the other, Gorbelled his skull, trophated his endention, Debaunched his orchids, and called forth The hidden pitches of panic Out from their lair of bones. |
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