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Wee Hour contempt has congealed on last night’s dishes and open eyes ricochet over magnetic fields of insomnia this is the hour of the creaking floor and in the closet an intruder with a knife hour of the crawling flesh the aching tooth the rising gorge of hives and shingles of fighting cats of sobbing heard through the wall when terror opens like a trapdoor on a scaffold when Hell’s bells ring from the telephone and a voice says I only am escaped alone to tell thee 23 ...

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