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The poet nailed on
The hard bone of this world
His soul dedicated to silence
Is a fish with frog’s eyes
The blood of the poet flows
Out with his poems, back
To the pyramid of bones
From which he is thrust
His death is a saving grace
Creation is perfect
The hard bone of this world
His soul dedicated to silence
Is a fish with frog’s eyes
The blood of the poet flows
Out with his poems, back
To the pyramid of bones
From which he is thrust
His death is a saving grace
Creation is perfect
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