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sunlight bent. I felt the ceiling arch, and
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Who wouldn’t immanentize the eschaton, if they could,
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During nights of big moons try walking as slow as a skunk.
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I was pirouette and flourish,
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The thoughts watch themselves
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Oh taste how sweet and tart
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The flames consume all but
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All things are matter, yet these seem
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In your dream
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And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,