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47 PATRIOT Days without noons under the pilfering rain Drenched to my thoughts in the abjectness Of a poverty even the church rat fears, scuttling For cover in ailurophilic places But in the nationalist sun I dry this conscience of mine, wet With precipitation from reeking skies Now is time out to respire Or we all expire For fatality shall shun asphyxia when the breath Holds out in lung-fortresses Till noisome days go by in capitulation. Miracle! Who dreads vultures in this death When decay flees my mortal remains in horror? ADMONITION Graft-motes Carried In wind-farts that blow my way Whiffs of terribleness Wafted In nights of brown darkness, when Dead rat and other stenches Waylay the moral nostril ...

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