"Slaying
Pure festive eyes
of the contemptuous: lavender heart,
green glimmer, stout hearts, expected hearts
Homes by a window-pane,
dying sights and sitting
fogs
An ethereal star
that wandered and bound, and the
fleshless forests, the
stark forests
Parting on a temptation and pious wave,
frightened in grass
and story
Useless as guinea, utile as
fever"
--Issue 1, 2300.
The recurrence of my concerns is proof enough they were underground awhile and have surfaced again, like certain subway trains.
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