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■ The oak
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How does it feel
To love someone and despair? Tell me Never to console oneself with Gratuitous reassurances "If only I'd wanted to" "If only I'd tried" Knowing smiles Lovely alternatives Taking the carmine-painted hand Of yet another fantasy in black leather Please Enlighten me How would it feel To come upon a veil As resolute and immovable As Milton's God Descended like a swarm of locusts Upon the white-armed form of one's affections What would it be like To know that not even a changing of the guard In the stars Nor the sudden insanity of the sun, the domain of Ra Nor a folding of immutable time, bountiful space Shall drive her into your open arms Fill your parched, cynical heart With the sweet fruit Of ill success Would you like to know? Come watch the nightingale sing Of immutable blackness Of four pomegranate seeds And howls from the hallway of leaves Where some old and spiteful force Holds her, ignorant and disrobed, far and far Where desires are valueless Passion needless Where love letters are read And duly answered In a steel-tipped secretarial hand What sin Shall one so callously perform What sacred duty breach What lurid rape gleefully enjoy That this soft, aimless agony Be the pit and he the pendulum Higher than men are burnt upon this stake Kissing corpses And you, little Orpheus You thought your quaint music Would soften the Gods?
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