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The Town Dump

<i>“The art of our necessities is strange,
That can make vile things precious.”</i>

A mile out in the marshes, under a sky
Which seems to be always going away
In a hurry, on that Venetian land threaded
With hidden canals, you will find the city
Which seconds ours (so cemeteries, too,
Reflect a town from hillsides out of town),
Where Being most Becomingly ends up

Becoming some more. From cardboard tenements,
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