Great Lament Of My Obscurity Three

where we live the flowers of the clocks catch fire and the plumes encircle the brightness in the distant sulphur morning the cows lick the salt liliesmy sonmy sonlet us always shuffle through the colour of the worldwhich looks bluer than the subway and astronomywe are too thinwe have no mouthour legs are stiff and knock togetherour faces are formeless like the starscrystal points without strength burned basilicamad : the zigzags cracktelephonebite the rigging liquefythe arcclimbastralmemorytowards the north through its double fruitlike raw fleshhunger fire blood

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