| Forgot the dream that led me to the cane
|
| But how the rattle tempts me
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| Wide and scraping
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| Sit and dry
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| Make mica on your skin
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| Divide your forearm
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| Like a stack of yellow news
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| Muscovite sheath
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| Thick billfold fray
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| New glinting slots the sun can breach
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| The cane flares open just before a hill
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| I see the bronze plate water gleaming
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| Flawed like pollen, settled and was cast
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| A spectrum frozen flat upon the gleam
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| Now gold has turned to black
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| Frogs pierce the ear
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| I’m in the cane
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| Forgot the dream that led me here |