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s e v e n p o e m s i n h e b r e w |
r a c h e l e s h e d |
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Now Sleep
1 Things no one praises. Hallucinatory landscapes, a blot on my brow and my tired hands. Three little blunders die. 2 An electric current but more delicate on the soles of my feet, and a kind of sudden joy that I have a bed, that my palms are whole, and also unblemished and fine. Shshsh, now sleep, blind like a young child’s dream.
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