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March 7, 2013

Prose poem: “Repent, believe the Good News!”

When they take you to the blind ends of fruiting green, fragrant meadows and blue transparent layer through which the ruddy rays pour salt droplets on silver horns with gold collars and when Angels are whispering softly, then louder, singing forest fairy: take off the blindfold, pull off it , and when you feel that no soil or water underfoot can not injure feet stronger, you will take off into the darkness and the cold hard stone walls, torn, bloodstained from the hollows and sound like old lamentations and cries of children’s voices, you’ll realize that you’re no longer blind and hanging upside down.

Good as it gets: no more covers, you saw through, remember and have excellent hearing.

 

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