Fumbling through the dusky dark, No single beam of light till the far brinks of world, Stray bits of bliss and spasm, Filling the chinks in spate of the benumbing angst, Is it a back gear? Or a forward move? Or agent stimulant, Part of the whole scheme? And what is this angst for? Out: Mere sketches, Mere gibberish. In: Blasé stasis. Dead ashes. I am afraid, I can connect…
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