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Delaine

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  • Delaine

    You smooth that lost dress
    Daft Lady
    Rearrange your hollow hair
    In the asylum of roots

    Horses browse at the vacant troughs
    Of your eyes
    Perhaps the Indians were right
    All importance eventually encircles

    For old hat
    Delaine
    I expect you to come back
    Untie the stones from the ground
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