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I want to read a poem to the microcosm,
a worldwhere a million souls will be listening,
probing the lattices of metaphor,
weighing the depth,
on a scale of luminosity;
brilliant moons, suns,
textures of tiger skin,
pumpkin nouns transporting ladies of delphinium,
runaway verbs light as field mice
in fields of words, grains of essence
divided
into other planets, spaces,
the idea
cut into gems,
imprisoned
in light. |source|
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