Show Me The Reasons For Laurel'd Posture,
As You Plant Your Avoided Nearness InTo The Fog,
With Spells Encased In Ice Cubes And Then InTo A Checker'd Plateau,
Loosely With The Office Dependance For Manager Cabinets And Wooded Panels,
With Those High CheekBones To An Alligator's Green Misery,
Thumping With A Blight Of Locusts For A Chance Of Precepitation...
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GrassHopper Lessons For The Indian Summer,
Wishing AWay The Grammer School Flunky...
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I Only Think To Be... What I Am... Only Being As I Be...
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Oh, If I Could Approach At Will To Thy Wrinkled Ear,
In Thy Final Blinks AWay From The Fadeing Of Grey UpOn Black,
To See The Distant Velvet OnTo Ye... A Traveller WithIn A Block-Book'd Caravan,
Past The Silk Ribbons And Bushels Of Ready'd Wheat At Thy Feeding InTo Anxiety,
Ye Had The Charm To Call Upon A Life OnTo Tears...
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InTo The Giver Of Secrets,
Thatching Not One Straw For Your Bohemian Door Wedge,
Selling The Blank Stare As Avatar... A Mystic In A Cardigan,
With A Face To Tilt The Sea From Its Salt...
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But First Ye Need Only To Scry InTo Thy Pond For Ripples,
For The Heavyest Of Stones To Skip A Beatened Path...
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Why... For WithOut That To Bring The Cobbler,
To Your Stone... Perhaps... To Thy Fullest...
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As I Take My Leave,
As Ye Would Take Thy Fill.
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