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Spin He spins, face turned upward, arms outstretched, leaves falling from his tight fists. Leaves falling, like little secrets from his white knuckled mind. The leaves obey Newton but take their directions from his twirl, spinning too, as they free fall to the grassy earth. Whispers are made in crisp air. He goes now to the world of Vertigonia. Ever turning, spinning, he loosens one leaf after another. When they settle, secrets will be gone. For now. That’s what spins are for. |
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