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Neither twine nor rope nor Holy Ghost
Could bind this man to the mortal coil
Yet with mirth and dust and processed meats
A feast lay there before him
"This is evangelical", he said
He gandered to the right and to the left
Tactile affirmations and obsessive observations
And need I even mention such impressive desecrations
I am the city of dust
I am the cold dark place
I am the half dead flesh that needs no sleep
The pregnant pause, the sound unsung
The gut cut up, the gut cut up in real time
So, you will be mine