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This is about the strangeness, the undergrowth, the burrows and the broken twigs. 

Where do angels sleep?

I've held my breath as I ran and breathed underwater. 

Where does truth wander?

Across the lands of red dirt, holding hands underground they die above.

Trees without life. The gumtrees whisper to the kookaburra.

What do they say?

To read, to create, all these dreams wander their unshackled legs past my mind.