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blood mud salt - with Maitland Schnaars

The sound of dry leaves and twigs brushing dusty black boots, crunch of wafer thin slivers of dry red mud.

The ancient crack and rumble. Red-rock fists of god and stars. And echoes of songs of giants gone. Gone. Gone…

Red earth moist and thick like congealed blood.

Maps in our veins of blood, mud, salt, blood, mud, salt, blood, mud, salt.

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