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The Night Has Eyes

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In back of the bread is the flour,
and our living is attune.
In the back of the flour is the mill,
It is not a meager scrap.
I see the familiar mind as cold
charity, and it leaves all to soil the
heart.
The day has but one eye, and a long-
earred jackass is singing to the light
of a whole life.
He starts all the echoes to vibrate.

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