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funeral poem

are you alive?
very well, you liberals
out of the sparkling sea
take my bracelets
it was the autumn of the year
no prey am i of poor thoughts
a gleam of gold in gloom and gray
though i am little as all little things
a poet, having taken the bridle off his tongue
but i cannot read you now
you are clear
how like the stars are these white, nameless faces

 



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