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Feb 2020
There must always be a first flame - the initial kindling
The first twig to sing the song of burning
The summer dry oak tree origin of all subsequent ember
Call me ashdancer, smokeshaper
For I sing the tongue of spontaneous combustion
Unbridled and indiscriminate consumption
Your words are lightning to my August grass hill
And I hope to learn to love the purge of the burn
I hope to learn to love
Written by
B  24
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