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The Salesman
The morning paper sells it like it is,
razors away the natural. From beguiled
to guiled, I flee the house and aim amiss
my key like a mild knife. I am a child
pout disappointed at the checkout. Look,
I'd cotton a cotton revolution, sun
held back eschatologically, thin book
put down for now, to savor, not be done.
Take care, away my wall. Savior, say
and colorfield my hour without the frame
of spine and thread and glue. Redeem the they
I blame, my art of naming Thee the same.
When I relive my sailor-suited days,
I (once a great berry-er) can praise.
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