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Next Rimbaud Last

 Rimbaud stood

propped against
the ice as
would be
expected. Blue
as peace time
refrigerators, yet
still warm
to the touch.
He had
corsairs in
mind, with the
courage of
abutments.
Pressured
to succeed
further than
beyond the
most word
eye, live
until dead, so
they say. And
the slave
trade slave trade
slave trade, a
ratiocination
of perplexity
for a mind
seeking vowels
and colours
athwart world
impatience and
time situated
outside of time,
inside deluge.
And thus
finally thus
purls of
explanation
settle in.
And we
think about
code.

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