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Phantagraph/Mind of Man, v. 8, issue 6, April 1941
Page 5
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-5- SONNETOID The morrid rusy scabbergood I hight; I inwit no compulsing: those that brait Are bound by braiting. I, I choose to wait For finer menging. Stupous, for the sight Is [prosently?] withheld. Cotch in the bite Of older groads, my every wort is pain: Fine pain, keen-edged. The togon in my brain Denies the whole; but truth: aye, luckless wight! And if the call be ever seldom, what? Or seldom even over? O, the farce! The gallant primiptude! Condemned by that, I bow my head for sinning: those that parse This gaffer's truth are done, their blood is flat. But if we hypethate another, what? - EVA - : - MIND of MAN -:- MOOD A flick'ring taper dims the room -- [Malofic?] windows soft exhale -- A red [viresconce?] smells of doom; While camel-odors deeply pale. - EVA
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-5- SONNETOID The morrid rusy scabbergood I hight; I inwit no compulsing: those that brait Are bound by braiting. I, I choose to wait For finer menging. Stupous, for the sight Is [prosently?] withheld. Cotch in the bite Of older groads, my every wort is pain: Fine pain, keen-edged. The togon in my brain Denies the whole; but truth: aye, luckless wight! And if the call be ever seldom, what? Or seldom even over? O, the farce! The gallant primiptude! Condemned by that, I bow my head for sinning: those that parse This gaffer's truth are done, their blood is flat. But if we hypethate another, what? - EVA - : - MIND of MAN -:- MOOD A flick'ring taper dims the room -- [Malofic?] windows soft exhale -- A red [viresconce?] smells of doom; While camel-odors deeply pale. - EVA
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