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30 Elegy for Anna N. That mad urge to pull words up my throat and out of my mouth can be no more than a passing fancy, especially when it’s so cold outside; even for the spirits it’s cold, but a body is floating inside of our heads and her lovers won’t put her into the ground, or even set her on fire. Look what we made of her are not the words of a song although they sound that way, I know. If you sing your life in a certain way, it can sound like a song of the blue and opiate water. ...

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