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--- W I L L I A M   M .  G O T T L I E B

	raunch to reactionary

Rows of raw words raven your eyes, even now in your sore sight seek for your plunder, their plunge taking you away in a razzle of black chains to a page’s rayed dungeon where no one’s letters can reach you but this raving’s ravishment’s, ending raveled loudly, suddenly, in a mating raven’s call, musical in the black style of raunch – a fine line in love’s ravine, a poet alive and croaking.

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