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concrete poetry

backward, turn backward
shadows lay along broadway
see the tentative
i am weary of being bitter and weary of being wise
as i lie roofed in, screened in
brother, i am fire
look back with longing eyes and know that i will follow
the poets tell
to some the fat gods
into the silent land
shines the last age, the next with hope is seen
there was never a sound beside the wood but one
over the river they beckon to me
the darkness

 



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