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Poem by Keith Douglas
Living in a wide landscape are the flowers - Rosenberg I only repeat what you were saying - the shell and the hawk every hour are slaying men and jerboas, slaying the mind: but the body can fill the hungry flowers and the dogs who cry words at nights, the most hostile things of all. But that is not new. Each time the night discards draperies on the eyes and leaves the mind awake I look each side of the door of sleep for the little coin it will take to buy the secret I shall not keep. I see men as trees suffering or confound the detail and the horizon. Lay the coin on my tongue and I will sing of what the others never set eyes on.
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