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■ The oak
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concealing the course of the dark-winding rill
the lazy mist hangs from the brow of the mill in grey tails of monoxide breaths to whip the sun how keen fate pursues my geranium petals I paint them on my finger-toes haunt the sunlight become the analogue of a photon hear the piano-players giggling at the corners insult the queer vermicular dynasties spit on patron saint of Norway deliver myself extend below the baseline! my whole body seems to slant forward in an inquiry constant suppresion of the western hemisphere ambiversion amending the syllables swells out appointments in cylinder blooms written notes anchor beside my small delicate bones the aurora channels its way through the chapter-ring as storms of golden grapes increase the droppage human remains wash the weeds that are not trimmed in a perfect roulade of semitones rummage the ground from its sunken cheeks grimaced hermits creeping around the dome at sunset whispering numbers to me balance in the black gown of the wind dragging their fake tails in a dosage of regurgitated sounds converted inside the boxes of my sinews postscenium gate-keepers rack the wood-pigeon piercing as if salamandrian gazed Titian's colours leaving no sign of its visit yellow pollen now carried along I drag my moth-eaten left foot over my right foot's ankle expiate the many-colored dome into his cyclopic eye and utter: what sheep-skin boots I have! I salute your vertical sault, framed overture for earth's swallow skin I envy your plumed pride override against the paranthelion passage into the burlesquian synchron dance in the (in)tegument! you, old-maid found the cord to tie up my heals, huh?
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