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It is eleven minutes after four o’clock in the afternoon
Iron. They will get
- sable against the white background -
Salt. I do not know
the running of water,
their previous intercourse.
[a refusal would be an offence]
The question festered:
Those few minutes stood out
- shot to death whatsoever -
whose prospective dignity
is the subject of much intrigue.
[we should strike].
A Text Clock Found Poem