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61 Pantoum Unproved Toni Butler, 1911 – 1998 First, you take leave of your senses. Then, you lose your mind to wonder. Split the difference: what the machine can’t count. When you’ve lost your mind, who’s left to find you? The clock, just a machine, can count but not measure a second. Who’s left? Define you. The clock, strung on a nerve, ends its first measure, its second. Every body gives way: unstrung, unnerved, it ends in its loss. Embodied, you give yourself away bit by bit, fragmented by losses you embody. The moment flies apart, bit off, so fragmented you must forget you are a moment flown. Parsed, wondering, splitting difference, forget you are yourself first taken, then left senseless. ...

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