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In Comes The Wind

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In comes the wind
and Illuminati  
touching my skin  
sleeping naked  
in unadorned metaphors  
echoing serenity  
no time for gauchos
or cowboys on the Pampas  
escaping the whispers
of makers and takers  
and near-illiterate  
listening to the sounds
as the coffee drips  
embracing my reincarnation  
in comes the wind
and Illuminati.

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