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death poetry

i have cast the world
fat black bucks in a wine-barrel room
did you ever hear of
the old west, the old time
i am in love with high far-seeing places
burly, dozing humble-bee
be in me as the eternal moods
there is an hour of peaceful rest
better than granite
we break the glass whose sacred wine
i love the old melodious lays
take my bracelets
from floor to ceiling

 



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