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There is a piece of land hidden in the curved & twisted hills

of the Black Forest

People arrive in bundles & in twos

Escaping the eery lives of their hometown blues

The clouds hang low

but seem lightyears away

silhouetting the needles & the pines

caging the sun in ribs of violet, green & grey

It’s a parade of want-to-be freaks

of want-to-be lovers

a temporary state of being

free at last

free for the last.

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Aug. 11. 2018

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