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What is the word
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and memory’s wick
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In my room, the world is beyond my understanding;
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diaphanous bodies
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when magma comes to the surface
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where dust-wings pull from us
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I think I will learn some beautiful language, useless for commercial
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the mind wanders as a line of poetry taking flight meanders
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Who switches my ancient lamps for new ones?
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After the final no there comes