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to love life, to love it even
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And so each venture
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The breath of our lives, passing from this one to that one,
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the whole thing through
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What a mess is everything
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the bedside / light casting shadows like bison running at full
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My thinking slides on the wake of the cricket’s sweet
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stigmas on the body of air
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But such figments, especially when immersed in paradox,
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The past tense is so severe,
