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we are not scaling we are hunters in this drape called body we have / hardened our old selves pricked peeled consumed . . .
This land I watch over / is a place with old stories / and plant medicine. / It is earth a mountain lion walks . . .
Fool had ten thousand acres
but needed my ass to make it complete.
He rubbed me like a good luck charm
and I poisoned his pancakes.
The quest to privatize clinical labs threatens public health.
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Miami’s bleak future on the front line of climate change.