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at the hour of your death. Your music is broken and eaten among the American poets and you are gone, angry wolf, sad swallow, and you are gone, blest boat, blest water, gone in the first hour and gone in the second hour . . . You Are Not One in a Sequence Here Child who is to die take this breast this rattle this dress don’t listen to your friends on the other side . . . Child who is dead: you are not one in a sequence. Don’t come back, blush on your cheek, do not push your white boat up to our dock. Let you: stay over there, with your heaven-dog and your friends, and we: drop back down into our intents. Alcohol At a memorial service in a high school auditorium M. in her raincoat: she 232 door in the mountain ...

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