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| DemonologueThis morning from his bed Sir I led him to a little blue bird That hovered like a wingless tin thing He slapped it from above him to the dirt Took it in hand and saw It wasn't a bird but a big mosquito With her face it was sick He thought it must be thirsty And then brought the thing to his breast Sir I know incontinence of the body But of the soul what giving more sorry Than to the thing itself would suckle him -Jeff Clark |
