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thank you poem

a look is but a ray
a flying word from here and there
i saw the archangels in my apple-tree last night
and still they walked on
a blue-black nubian plucking oranges
the earth keeps some vibration going
babylon-where i go dreaming
days endeared to every muse
there was a strangeness on your lips
as a naked man i go
little gate was reached at last

 



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