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16 EZRA POUND Assembling all you say tout dit que places, names No longer on the tip of any tongue Io, Priapus, Maelids, Calhoun, Lorenzo make me very sad Make for a certain welling, Ezra Pound. A certain kind of hard on me you come (no chase no cutting to it) Come all acrow with one astonishment upon another How upon you none of it is lost—how cheerfully this history is hunkering Reminded of itself—This is not the bottom— It is a deeper looking for a deeper you said that and I apply it So to the case of you who I’m just now sweet on That which gleams and then does not gleam saving the bricabrac In a cheap edition with a sky wet as ocean / flowing with liquid slate ...

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