Title: Optional

Text: But someone will tell you the butterfly's the happy ending of every dirge-singing worm, the rat a river rat come up from a shimmering depth, the shit passed purely into scat one can read for a source, the creature that shadowed it one longish minute. And trees, of course they wanted to fall. It was their time or something equally sonorous. And wind too knows its mindless little whirlpool's not for nothing, not nothing-that pitch and rage stopped. How else does the sparrow's neck break. Each paragraph will be a test.

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