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Bosse-de-Nage
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An Ideal Ledge
There is a ledge somewhere set against a deadly precipice
which Spring's nostalgic winds never reach.
It overlooks the confluence every sewer built by man.
I stand naked and erect on this rock scarcely wide enough for my bare feet to rest flat.
I watch the fluids below roll and fold. All of my lovers past and future present themselves naked in that muck, pulsating like eggs.
A thousand epigones below cry:
'Only to live, to live, to live…'
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