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Poem	to Karl Max Ostojic Why do you stare at the little box That in her emptiness Holds the whole world If the little box holds The world in her emptiness Then the antiworld Holds the little box in its antihand Who'll bite off the antiworld's antihand And on that hand Five hundred antifingers Do you believe You'll bite it off With your thirty-two teeth Or are you waiting For the little box To fly into your mouth Is this why you are staring
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