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Oxen of the Sun 394
A pampered pronoun grows amok
To mannered speech
But floats luffing
Sails no longer erect in
Black cold named afternoon
Half the wild world is now at war
While the other half dreams
Of belonging to the wind.
Like a discovered island
Found sure and spare of fancy
We take our royal pelts and load the
Bundles of language woven, ungrateful
And weighing anchor, put out to evening
Looking for new worlds.
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