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The Dirge of the Poet's Fetus

BLASÉ do I say! Have done!
Forward, and tear these roots that glue like night,
Through mamma, love of albumen, to the light,
To the rich gracious stamen of the bright
Rising sun!

- Everyone has his turn, and now I am ripe
To irradiate from Limbos my inedited type!

On! Break the bar!
Saved from these steppes of mucus, swimming bold
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6/13/2021 5:25:38 AM # 1.0.0.621