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Thirty-One Days                                          day xix                                                   Tittle Page

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The wind is the train of the souls,
Traveling both backwards and forwards,
Caring all time that we stole
Souls walking in reverse,
On and out of dementia,
The cosmos collapsing,
Folding,
And falling like angry rain
On the heads of the lost souls
Lying on their sides, grasping with
The greatest of pain

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page xviii           Index             page xx

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