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as none were made. no brawn
to be spoken of today.

along the coast to aeron,
aberaeron, to chase the ghost,
look out to sea.

gone now, ragged curtains hang.

dirty windows.

more dice take us,
scissors hang in corners,
to cut and paste
the dogged words of life.

chant the twisted trees
of chancery, note the roots.

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sbm.

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