Marking the occasional paper
indian file, so formal, peering
after the liner (the daisywheel)
in the common way, how it lowers
into the blue sea.. still there you find
him, so textile end on, flat as that
& so transferred, taking a shiver
down his spine, and the cabbage tree claps
it's swords over the setting sun
turning as if to say
mouth open, exclamatory
so armature you were so ready
so gestetner, old and dizzy,
& your line so charcoal grey and endless
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