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  • There whence I took my pain
    I regurgitate disdain
    Toward a limp but mild fissure
    And swore upon my hate: pure

    These arms of clay and ocean breeze
    Should cry of cut and cry of candour
    For what these hands of fervour
    Should not embrace your fears of ease

    I have it in my heart
    I have it deep within

    Flowers of grin, smart
    Blue far scent of jasmim


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    photo: very old playing with double exposure; these were my neighbours.
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