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From Beyond a Dream

The ballet dancers swim outside my doors,
And pluck at scarlet fruits behind my eyes;
They pirouette in seven’s, eight’s and nine’s
Then drown in reddened lakes in twenty-four’s.
Their sodden tutu’s, drink them up through straws
And on their bloated bodies, here, do dine -
They make the most delicious cherry wine
So do not think their death was without cause!


Then from their shelled remains,...

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