Don’t waste time. Get going, get to it, get to bed, get
wound-up, get spun-off, get laid, let’s have it. Death, I
don’t like you anymore. Now here’s how the light lies:
stumbling mossy boots in rusty brambles, steel birch
whistling up and shattering short, sun gloaming over
the western trenches, wild wheat diving up like reef life;
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