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Moreover; the moon-- |
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Mina Loy |
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Face of the skies
preside
over our wonder. |
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Fluorescent
truant of heaven
draw us under. |
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Silver, circular corpse
your decease
infects us with unendurable ease |
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touching nerve-terminals
to thermal icicles |
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Coercive as coma, frail as bloom
innuendoes of your inverse dawn
suffuse the self;
our every corpuscle become an elf. |
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