On Not Being Able to Perceive Angels
in the twilight lo
I stood before the twilight
without even a moon
jacking up the artifice
the proverbial number of angels
that could fit on the head of a pin
before whom, and in what habit
I speak—stop me at the very
vestibule and rip up my ticket
one frosty adress will not
diminish one jott my vegetable love
(Source: citylights.com)

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