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concrete poetry

how shall i help to right the world that is going wrong
good woman
who will be naming the wind
a poet, having taken the bridle off his tongue
night is dark, and the winter winds
who loves the rain
and how could you dream of meeting
a flying word from here and there
now while my lips are living
they ask me where i've been
if the red slayer think he slays
the ships are lying in the bay

 



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