Before we said
you're breaking up
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I loved my walkie-talkie's
static song, dialed
placid satellites
where weightless
dogs barking
in Russian sipped
vodka through
barber poles
while all along
as Malashenkov,
late of the Institute
for Biological Problems
told the BBC
it was only Laika,
a brindled bitch
who strayed all the way
from Nevsky Prospekt
to the brazen steppes
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