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58 U n m a n n e d Wood columns, verandah, a fanlight. Wicker. Ferns. A pile of bones Next to the dog’s bed radiates twilight. In the curdling sky, shadows drone Their numinous presence and zero in. Oak planks sawed by prisoners Warp infinitesimally toward the pure condition of dust. All possible pleasure Has been accounted for. Down the street, In every window, disembodied lights appear, And an X of blood targets every door. ...

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