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   i n t e r p r e t e r

--- E T H A N   P A Q U I N

When glancing in sleep, any riddle's boxed
out:  night's dry calamine is a foreboding heat.

Listening has breathed into the riddle more than usual.

Naked, how your unsolve whittles at my reserve; the blemish left behind is an empty parlor, laughter.

When glancing you in sleep, any taph is fair game: bio, ceno, oro, epi.

If you can feel a laughing, are you wrong? Steam, freightage.

Without bulk, dream controls no aspect of its trace; without the kill,

linger is as much a lie as a ribbon, dainty waif.

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