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Not from this anger, anticlimax1 after Refusal struck her loin and the lame2 flower Bent3 like a beast to lap the singular floods Shall she receive a bellyful of weeds And bear those tendril hands I touch across Behind my head a square of sky sags6 over The circular smile tossed from lover to lover And the golden ball spins out of the skies; Not from this anger after Refusal struck like a bell under water Shall her smile breed that mouth, behind the mirror, That burns along my eyes.
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