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So call it oceanic feeling, but that's still just a wall
something the army corps of engineers might throw up
along the Mississippi -- wow, Canada just took
the 400-yard relay from the Americans --
to hold some ordered and stacked obedience, that one
over another we thought we'd left sometime
in the 17th century but still shows up to haul
the world in flopping and serve it up not even just
as a body which after all has access in its
recesses to memories of distances carbon
traveled after being forged in those old stars' hot hearts
and spewed out, but as if flesh had been mangled and
hung up to dry bereft of the solaces figuration --
no, not just that but the pulse itself, so deep the morning
paper says Nicaraguan children have invented
language when none was offered, instinct the word that now hides
in itself what we don't want to know about the tuning
of Amelia's soul, that same initiation leads
to Bamanan chiefs sectioned skull through slow regulation
of rhythm's work across years toward ataraxia
otherwise known as the ox though democracy as we
have so far pitifully imagined its hobbled
lineations would probably confuse it with prozac

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