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The Rose that Grows Out of Dead Butterflies

At dawn,She is ever glow,the sheen in the golden rays that blankets the still sleeping earth,the quickening frequency of a voice layered with hope-dyed thoughts that make molecules and motes dance in the slant of light,the vibe that swirls around pools of coffee, the impetus that launches the day on its feet and dreamy blimps into the skies.In a town time orphaned,where rocks don’t move and…