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With Walt Whitman MAG
Walt, call my name.
Make your purpose clear.
She weighs too much for my being to bear
And binds my tongue with kite string
I struggle knowing analyzation is my personal analyzation.
She ignores and persists.
Walt, watch me thrive.
I will never close in.
My dim eyes follow along, listening.
Words that scream truth are but sweetly
murmured by her.
My insanity, woman, my tumor.
My sanctuary, Walt, my garden.
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