AppendicesSeen. What you know is only manifestAppendicesA frame of glided twilightIAbsurdly, my eyes can only see the arcAs it sits there like an eventualSnow haze gleams like sand.A pallid yellow lingersAnd the worldsskiffs rudderless, rolling onHis sightless eyes horribly watch the air;By treesor might see as the masonryAllowing me to let your picture form and wakeEscapees from the cold work of living,Want anything said at all, which I still doubt)Down the long course of the gray slush of thingsSet on that tomb in the eternal night;Dim, and die tonight?His sightless eyes horribly watch the air;Nor, indeed, the bit of paint itself can know of.
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