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■ The oak
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| Nude samples of unwashed dishes In which I’ve eaten sweet and bitter apples, Memorized with mystery, Are to be thrown in the sink with unperceived Unwashed thoughts. I feel how I rot inside of me of too much lonely In poisoned air where I slowly flow towards the void In trembling regressions of azure or maybe grey which actually is black, and I am the point of the tomb. in the hundreds of equations that trembles to be solved.
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