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and if you that night had swung

And if you that night had swung,

say, from a rope tied to the rafter…


What then? Would I have lived

like the dead, long years

piled high in dust… Until,


when? Friend,

I’m dying.

O, sterile!

Wind. I saw


myself in the mirror,

mile a minute.

Going for it, you. You

ask for it, you do.

Would I live


my days in that

first floor flat

in London…Friends

dead, or gone

to some

other hole they call

home. It hurts,

yes it does.



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