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My voice goes after what my eyes cannot reach, With the twirl of my tongue I encompass worlds and volumes of worlds.
The disdain and calmness of martyrs, The mother of old, condemn'd for a witch, burnt with dry wood, her children gazing on, The hounded slave that flags in the race, leans by the fence, blowing, cover'd with sweat, The twinges that sting like needles his.What have you to confide to me?Every condition promulges not only itself, it promulges what grows after and out of itself, And the dark hush promulges as much as any.You light surfaces only, I force surfaces and depths also.From the cinder-strew'd threshold I follow their movements, The lithe sheer of their waists plays even with their massive arms, Overhand the hammers swing, overhand so slow, overhand so sure, They do not hasten, each man hits in his place.I lie in the night air in my red shirt, the pervading hush is vinna gratis pengar online nu 5 ps3 for my sake, Painless after all I lie exhausted but not so unhappy, White and beautiful are the faces around me, the heads are bared of their fire-caps, The kneeling crowd.Becoming already a creator, Putting myself here and now to the ambush'd womb of the shadows.I chant the chant of dilation or pride, We have had ducking and deprecating about enough, I show that size is only development.
I remember now, I resume the overstaid fraction, The grave of rock multiplies what has been confided to it, or to any graves, Corpses rise, gashes heal, fastenings roll from.
The runaway slave came to my house and stopt outside, I heard his motions crackling the twigs of the woodpile, Through the swung half-door of the kitchen I saw him limpsy and weak, And went where he sat on a log and led him.
And as to you Corpse I think you are good manure, but that does not offend me, I smell the white roses sweet-scented and growing, I reach to the leafy lips, I reach to the polish'd breasts of melons.
We want your opinion!How they contort rapid as lightning, with spasms and spouts of blood!Welcome is every organ and attribute of me, and of any man hearty and clean, Not an inch nor a particle of an inch is vile, and none shall be less familiar than the rest.Ever the hard unsunk ground, Ever the eaters and drinkers, ever the upward and downward sun, ever the air and the ceaseless tides, Ever myself and my neighbors, refreshing, wicked, real, Ever the old inexplicable query, ever that thorn'd thumb, that breath of itches and.Speech is the twin of my vision, it is unequal to measure itself, It provokes me forever, it says sarcastically, Walt you contain enough, why don't you let it out then?Again the long roll of the drummers, Again the attacking cannon, mortars, Again to my listening ears the cannon responsive.You seem to look for something at my hands, Say, old top-knot, what do you want?O unspeakable passionate love.I also say it is good to fall, battles are lost in the same spirit in which they are won.I resign myself to you also-I guess what you mean, I behold from the beach your crooked fingers, I believe you refuse to go back without feeling of me, We must have a turn together, I undress, hurry me out of sight of the land.




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