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A book in my hand. The steam
Of the radiator on my brows.
There’s a light rain outside.
I’m sleepy. I almost drift off.
I’m sleepy. People speaking,
As through a canvas, monotone.
A young man…
Veritas sequitur . . .
In the small beauty of the forest
The wild deer bedding down—
That they are there!
Their eyes
Effortless, the soft lips
Nuzzle and the alien small teeth
Tear at the grass
T…