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| his irritation was lost in a maze among his pillows, carved with distaste and his eyes spread over lonely monologues merged with smiling mouths, engrossed in his anger with ears. |
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| he was himself only a wandering black void. we all felt that. |
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| monsters, hissing greedily, would conjure up from nothingness these blind buds of tin branches, which flutter in the air, guided by ageless egyptian eyes. |
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| we forgot him. |
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