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They want the supermarkets to open until midnight
but guess even the ushers are watching.
Bones whisper of throttled blue;
the starred fury of country images
when light betrays her nakedness
denying nothing but the obscure harmony of intricate muscles
like when he's going to the bottom of pretty flesh
amid hailstones which they swallow.
Red speaks of any nice thing
to force open human inconvenience
in the chaffinch-haunted wood
where cold hands knock against the war,
dizzy with Catherine-wheels.
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