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The Brain to the Heart Stars tied to breath don't have to be there when you look. No more than drops of blood on ginkgo leaves & inconsequential eggs & frog spittle clinging to damp grass. Sure, I've seen doubts clustered like peacock eyes flash green fire. So what? When days are strung together, the hourglass fills with worm's dirt. What do you take the brain for? I know how hard you work in that dark place, but I can't be tied down to shadows of men in trenches you won't forget. You look at a mulberry leaf like a silkworm does, with all your insides, but please don't ask me to be responsible. N EON V ERN A C U L A R ...

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