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Poem	The clock disserts on punctuation, syntax. The clock's voice, thin and dry, asserts, repeats. The clock insists: a lecturer demonstrating, Loudly, with finger raised, when the class has gone. But time flows through the room, light flows through the room Like someone picking flowers, like someone whistling Without a tune, like talk in front of a fire, Like a woman knitting or a child snipping at paper.
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