| http://www.w3.org/ns/prov#value | - rete skies.Like a bird building its ornate nest,I have come to this room to await deathand lovers, and friends...More than once I have taken menI barely know into my bedand tangled myself in their limbs.In the morning it is always the wallsI wake to first, if not the childwailing on the stairwell.Waking to the world is hell-it is a hell made of
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