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Half-Heard, Half-Seen

A half-heard gasp, and I go clothed to the tooth,
Of the night there is an empty market,
And now in imagination the fortnight arrives
Which is more or less obsolete.

The elemental forces are rather chaotic
In our endeavours and misdemeanours.
Upon the tiles we strut and walk haphazardly,
Finding what we have climbed in the thoughts.

As a result, seas make an act of burning and gasping,
Of herds of buffalo, of independent objects that slay
As the mighty ones more deadly.

My gasping is for you, my riding is for your belly,
Much deserved is your freedom, for we worry
From results of the melodies that are old.

My half-seen wonders amass, at hand I know
The actions and words of the ideal company.

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