We
split it three ways and what word
Is
your third? O consummate sound
The
more or less the infinite scimitar!
O speechless
parapets and sleepless
Cinemas
with silent multitudes bowing
At
the altar of our condensed comedy so
Short
each line never gets off the ground
We
all think we see Jesus Christ himself
Smirking with the unbetrayable lie
We
all think our thoughts alone too tall
For
the chicken wire of our lazy halos
As if we overtake the slant of drifting hope
Such
irrefragable fragrances arise now
To
permit our imperfections O seasons clear!
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