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Darn thing written. I have a headache and my contacts are all foggy. On the up side I think it's mostly coherent. I have T in the morning. I am so not telling him about this. Shakey out.
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'...
At poor peace I sing
To you strangers (though song
Is a burning and crested act,
The fire of birds in
The world's turning wood,
For my sawn, splay sounds,)
...'
Dylan Thomas, Author's Prologue
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