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21 IX Even god must be astonished by it all. Rain in the afternoon is always a surprise. my first death was a butterfly. The smell of Earl grey mocks Proust. But you’re 39 now, she said. do you still need that hurt little boy? This line flowers up like a tree in a red night but curves with the weight of lynching. How can the moon be so blind? Blake on Paxil? No tygers burning, that’s for sure. Non-committal lines that won’t speak to each other and yet the narrow gutter between them overflows with the dirty water of all that is unsaid. In rooms without names, Aga shahid Ali is still mourned with a circling grief. 22 ...

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