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concrete poetry

so fallen
often i think of the beautiful town
take my bracelets
though i am little as all little things
pharaoh, king of egypt's land
in and of itself
a thin gray shadow on the edge of thought
we break the glass whose sacred wine
i have seen the proudest stars
i am weary of being bitter and weary of being wise
i have come into the desert because my soul is athirst

 



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