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Beneath spangles of sun, a field lies before me in unmown disfigurement. Dandelion clocks, full, half-spent, are pus globules & knobbly whiteheads, while spent ones bristle out of grass tussocks. Then across the field’s green skin sudden patches of buttercup yellow stretch their contagious impetigo
May 11, 2025, 7:32 AM