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short poem

three days i heard them grieve when i lay dead
they ask me where i've been
high-born race
the single clenched fist lifted and ready
let us express our baser passions
days endeared to every muse
in may
how wild, how witch-like weird that life should be
i saw god. do you doubt it?
i can not tell you now
i despise my friends more than you
are you alive?
when i looked into your eyes

 



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