SUB TERRA
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here shall I find you,you my grotesque fellowsthat I seek everywhereto make up my band?None, not onewith the earthy tastes I require;the burrowing pride that risessubtly as on a bush in May. Where are you this day,you my seven year locustswith cased wings?Ah my beauties how I long--!That harvestthat shall be your advent--thrusting up through the grass,up under the weedsanswering me,_that_ shall be satisfying!The light shall leap and snapthat day as with a million lashes! Oh, I have you; yesyou are about me in a sense:playing under the blue poolsthat are my windows,--but they shut you out still,there in the half light.
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