I disavow Paper. What is it to me? the severing skin of my dignity. It says I m Nothing. It says I m diseased.

And refuses Help to the Humble SPIRIT. The self is perfumed A golden element: Is it the fire of Life? I guess it is, yes. A yellow flower A time for Power. The voices I hear Love When I sing. For they are my Visions With full words of verse That drip from the line Of my paragraph

And they are a Waltz Made into a Peon Oh no, it s a stanza A pirouette on Toe? Go back to line 5. The self is perfumed No, no, it s line 9. What you meant to say The self is perfumed In Anguish designed. Why does thought decline? Where Arts there are none More deserving Of Forests ..Thought, Sound, Sense Blooms in full Fleurish. Than the sound of a Voice That never stained a Tree Nor all the walls raised with my death.

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