"We are made of meat and music, born with sawdust on our feet. Glued to our mothers for a while, we fall into the angles of our father's eyes and they look anywhere but where we are.
Glued to our mothers for a while, we look into our mother's eyes and out the other side. Breezes are cold, and no one told us that we are made of meat and music."
This work stands on its own - but is also part of a meta-fable, made up of all my BookRix 'books'. It's a ...
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