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The Fury Of Gods Good-bye

 One day He
tipped His top hat
and walked
out of the room,
ending the arguement.
He stomped off saying: I don't give guarentees.
I was left quite alone using up the darkenss.
I rolled up my sweater, up into a ball, and took it to bed with me, a kind of stand-in for God, what washerwoman who walks out when you're clean but not ironed.
When I woke up the sweater had turned to bricks of gold.
I'd won the world but like a forsaken explorer, I'd lost my map.

Poem by Anne Sexton
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