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O Gloom – thou muslin cambric, cheap whore in tattered whether, mourn’s toast, quoted lamely, Saturn’s bile, the vile reptile, so rapt, wrapped in linen finery, thus festooned was I - Now? I am – Iambic, rhythm’s beater, the snare’s Rat-Tat-Tatter, a drum in heat, that cotton’s heretic, whose antidote is Lust - I own it, and thus nakedly gambol I! Iamb melodic – Full of life’s rhythm - I reject thee.
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