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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
The weather has its own language.

Submitted: January 19, 2012

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Submitted: January 19, 2012

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The circuitry of the sky; there are no ceilings. Weather sings it's song and we hum along. A tired teardrop jumps down, down, into the champagne flute. A sip of suffering intoxicates us. The car that wrecks during the rainstorm. It is totaled, beautiful. It simply changed to something else. solace in the process, disaster has a form.


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