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A carbon of skills and bones
The sinews of the huge track modifier
Skin the balled shape searching its way outta the brain that hones
The head skeleton of an idea still rollin’ in fire

The mastery at her hand, hide nor hair carved ivory, a magic intensifier
Of the blue bees in the palms of the sky when she turns its stones
Downward to the red sands of the cliff’s breathing stock they mire
The skulls of the autochtones’ horses, like turkeys given by the Puebloans, grinnin’ and chucklin’ with all their teeth, hire the scenes behind their kachinas’ undertones