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you have my heart on a plate, it bleeds thru & thru the page

I have been looking for you, I say, to my heart, for a long

age, only as a mesmerist does, only, as if in a trance, only now

a feast for every dying second, the same heart, same feast, one

and two, and three, the branches of trees snap, the ancient belief

that I can remember every place and every night we burned beneath

somewhere deep in fire's embrace, the laughing face, "share this with

thee too shall I," she the goddess, I invigoratingly writing down names

marking every date, in every way I find that thee has been here, yet

i, i am someplace far, far away, and i, i am, to refuse to recognize the fire's

speech, and i, i won't allow myself this inveterate in-vertebrae, you see

i will move, and slowly, i will speak, and better thou to play with some

other guest of the midnight soiree, than to lead me back to the gate

if thou hast better plans than to kill a dead man, deader than a nail-head.

see the sign on the crossed post, that leadeth to the crossed roads, that

a crooked man walks, to and fro, from the stream and back to the stone

knoweth i nought whom enters here, knoweth i nought whom leaves

knoweth i nought what awaits thee, no, knoweth i nought true love's

tree, no, knoweth i nought, here, all is sacred, all burning trees carry

inscriptions, written in fire, that lead up to the aires, that lift the broken

countenance and sing in fervent choral song, thou hast no right, no

take no pleasure in knowing this, thou hast left me here, madness.

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