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Seaward

Darling you think it's love it's just a midnightjourney.
Best are the dales and rivers removed by force as from the next compartment throttles "Oh stopit Bernie " yet the rhythm of those paroxysms is exactly yours.
Hook to the meat! Brush to the red-brick dentures alias cigars smokeless like a driven nail! Here the works are fewer than monkey wrenches and the phones are whining dwarfed by to-no-avail.
Bark then with joy at Clancy Fitzgibbon Miller.
Dogs and block letters care how misfortune spells.
Still you can tell yourself in the john by the spat-at mirror slamming the flush and emerging with clean lapels.
Only the liquid furniture cradles the dwindling figure.
Man shouldn't grow in size once he's been portrayed.
Look: what's been left behind is about as meager as what remains ahead.
Hence the horizon's blade.

by Joseph Brodsky
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