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A passenger holding hands
with unknown figure she does
not now know no   remember no
when this nearness came, when
it makes her nearly gag, limp
hand, stiff hand, never let
There is no mist in this carriage
train as if flat in flat landscape
mist in this carriage so thick
she does not see a figure
holding perfect hands with
her. When she inhales, molasses
when she looks, mist in black onyx
with bands of colour, heavy absent,
heaviness & absence entangled
breathing constant quantities
something gets lost through

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And Hart Crane, ‘In the Desert’:

In the desert
I saw a creature, naked, bestial,
Who, squatting upon the ground,
Held his heart in his hands,
And ate of it.
I said: “Is it good, friend?”
“It is bitter – bitter,” he answered;
“But I like it
Because it is bitter,
And because it is my heart.”

 

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