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a wounded outlaw limps across the brokenlands
his blood the trail for his pursuers
a thin red line back to the grinding machines
of society

eyes burnt by sun seek bees
buzzing guides to the spring
where healing awaits

there he will rest
he will enter the cool cave
he will make a forge and with fire he will build a hammer

then
after many days
the outlaw
with wounds healed and hammer in
swinging hand
will return
and the
machinery
will be
changed

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