I dont know one damned butterfly from anothermy ignorance of the stars is formidable,also of dogs & fernsexcept that around my house one destroys the otherWhen I reckon up my real ignorance, pal,I mumble many returns—next time it will be nature & Thoreauthis time is Baudelaire if one had the skilland even those problems OAt the mysterious urging of the body or Poereeled I with chance, insubordinate & a killerO formal & elaborate I choose youbut I love too the spare, the hit-or-mis,the mad, I sometimes cant always tell them apartAs we fall apart, will you let me hear?That would be good, that would be halfway to blisYou said will you answer back? I cros my heart& hope to die but not this year. Dream Song 265

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