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190 crying I cried for my father for his slim muscled legs because he was too timid and shy for death I cried for my childhood my bedroom mouse our long hall apemen and dinosaurs marching in the darkness for Bach’s climbing violins ache of their beauty too tangled in this world to ever get out for women faces in sunlight the places they were songs that played all those filaments of soul itching under time’s rock The crying so deep it was like coming bitter crying crying sweet like milk ...

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