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carefully, for he was on fire.
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breathing poems
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around the phonograph, which is the grooved
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from the speeding passage of time, and so maybe
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Behold the customary loves and friendships – the cold guards
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as before, fingers perfectly
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and our hopes such as they are
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We fray into the future, rarely wrought
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the oryxes with their black matching horns,
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I have made this place around you.